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  Quotations - Garden/Nature  
[Quote No.53017] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:]

'Old Thanksgiving Rhyme'

The year has turned its circle,
The seasons come and go.
The harvest all is gathered in
And chilly north winds blow.
Orchards have shared their treasures,
The fields, their yellow grain,
So open wide the doorway —
Thanksgiving comes again!

" - Unknown

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[Quote No.53039] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the joy of quiet nature]

'Quiet Things'

These I have loved with passion, loved them long:
The house that stands when the building hammers cease,
After wild syncopation, a sane song,
A tree that straightens after the winds' release,
The cool green stillness of an April wood,
A silver pool, unruffled by the breeze,
The clean expanse of a prairie's solitude
And calm, unhurried hours -- I love these.
I have been tangled in the nets too long;
I shall escape and find my way again
Back to the quiet place where I belong,
Far from the tinseled provinces of men.
These will be waiting after my release:
The sheltered ways, the quiet ways of peace.

" - Grace Noll Crowell

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[Quote No.53062] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about nature and in particular Australia]

'My Country'

The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes.
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins,
Strong love of grey-blue distance
Brown streams and soft dim skies
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me!

A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us,
We see the cattle die -
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back threefold -
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land -
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand -
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.

" - Dorothea Mackellar
(1885 – 1968) Isobel Marion Dorothea Mackellar, OBE, Australian poet and fiction writer. She was the only daughter of noted physician and parliamentarian Sir Charles Mackellar, she was born in Sydney. Although she was raised in a professional urban family, Mackellar's poetry is usually regarded as quintessential bush poetry, inspired by her experience on her brothers' farms near Gunnedah, in the north-west of New South Wales. Her best-known poem is 'My Country', written at age 19 while homesick in England, and first published in the London Spectator in 1908 under the title 'Core of My Heart'. The second stanza of this poem is among the best known in Australia.
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[Quote No.53063] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the colors of nature, especially those of the Australian landscape]

'Colour'

The lovely things that I have watched unthinking,
Unknowing, day by day,
That their soft dyes have steeped my soul in colour
That will not pass away -

Great saffron sunset clouds, and larkspur mountains,
And fenceless miles of plain,
And hillsides golden-green in that unearthly
Clear shining after rain;

And nights of blue and pearl, and long smooth beaches,
Yellow as sunburnt wheat,
Edged with a line of foam that creams and hisses,
Enticing weary feet.

And emeralds, and sunset-hearted opals,
And Asian marble, veined
With scarlet flame, and cool green jade, and moonstones
Misty and azure-stained;

And almond trees in bloom, and oleanders,
Or a wide purple sea,
Of plain-land gorgeous with a lovely poison,
The evil Darling pea.

If I am tired I call on these to help me
To dream -and dawn-lit skies,
Lemon and pink, or faintest, coolest lilac,
Float on my soothed eyes.

There is no night so black but you shine through it,
There is no morn so drear,
O Colour of the World, but I can find you,
Most tender, pure and clear.

Thanks be to God, Who gave this gift of colour,
Which who shall seek shall find;
Thanks be to God, Who gives me strength to hold it,
Though I were stricken blind.

" - Dorothea Mackellar
(1885 – 1968) Isobel Marion Dorothea Mackellar, OBE, Australian poet and fiction writer.
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[Quote No.53064] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about nature]

'Dawn'

At the dawning of the day,
On the road to Gunnedah,
When the sky is pink and grey
As the wings of a wild galah,
And the last night-shadow ebbs
From the trees like a falling tide,
And the dew-hung spiderwebs
On the grass-blades spread far and wide -
Each sharp spike loaded well,
Bent down low with the heavy dew -
Wait the daily miracle
When the world is all made anew:
When the sun's rim lifts beyond
The horizon turned crystal-white,
And a sea of diamond
Is the plain to the dazzled sight.

At the dawning of the day,
To my happiness thus it fell:
That 1 went the common way,
And 1 witnessed a miracle.

" - Dorothea Mackellar
(1885 – 1968) Isobel Marion Dorothea Mackellar, OBE, Australian poet and fiction writer.
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[Quote No.53065] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about leaving the bustling city with its bridges and skyscrapers for the solitude of nature with a single mountain in the distance.]

'Barter'

I will exchange a city for a sunset,
The tramp of legions for a wind's wild cry;
And all the braggart thrusts of steel triumphant
For one far summit, blue against the sky.

" - Marie Blake
There is little information on this American poet, who wrote and published in the first half of the 20th century, but it appears her full name may have been Marie Edith Blake and she may have been a New Englander, specifically, a Bostonian. [Refer http://message.snopes.com/showthread.php?t=21722 ]
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[Quote No.53112] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about nature in particular life on the sea]

'A Life on the Ocean Wave'

A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!
Like an eagle caged, I pine
On this dull, unchanging shore:
Oh! give me the flashing brine,
The spray and the tempest’s roar!

Once more on the deck I stand
Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to the land!
The gale follows fair abaft.
We shoot through the sparkling foam
Like an ocean-bird set free; -
Like the ocean-bird, our home
We’ll find far out on the sea.

The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown;
But with a stout vessel and crew,
We’ll say, Let the storm come down!
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,
A home on the rolling sea!
A life on the ocean wave!

" - Epes Sargent
(1813 - 1880) American editor, poet and playwright. [abaft=Nautical-adverb=in or behind the stern of a ship.]
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[Quote No.53113] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about nature in particular life on the sea]

'Rockall'

Pale ocean rock! that, like a phantom shape,
Or some mysterious spirit's tenement,
Risest amid this weltering waste of waves,
Lonely and desolate, thy spreading base
Is planted in the sea's unmeasured depths,
Where rolls the huge leviathan o'er sands
Glistening with shipwrecked treasures. The strong wind
Flings up thy sides a veil of feathery spray
With sunbeams interwoven, and the hues
Which mingle in the rainbow. From thy top
The sea-birds rise, and sweep with sidelong flight
Downward upon their prey; or, with poised wings,
Skim to the horizon o'er the glittering deep.

Our bark, careening to the welcome breeze,
With white sails filled and streamers all afloat,
Shakes from her dripping prow the foam, while we
Gaze on thy outline mingling in the void,
And draw our breath like men who see, amazed,
Some mighty pageant passing. What had been
Our fate last night, if, when the aspiring waves
Were toppling o'er our mainmast, and the stars
Were shrouded in black vapors, we had struck
Full on thy sea-bound pinnacles, Rockall!

But now another prospect greets our sight,
And hope elate is rising with our hearts:
Intensely blue, the sky's resplendent arch
Bends over all serenely; not a cloud
Mars its pure radiance; not a shadow dims
The flashing billows. The refreshing air
It is a luxury to feel and breathe;
The senses are made keener, and drink in
The life, the joy, the beauty of the scene.

Repeller of the wild and thundering surge!
For ages has the baffled tempest howled
By thee with all its fury, and piled up
The massive waters like a falling tower
To dash thee down; but there thou risest yet,
As calm amid the roar of storms, the shock
Of waves uptorn, and hurled against thy front,
As when, on summer eves, the crimsoned main
In lingering undulations, girds thee round!

O, might I stand as steadfast and as free
'Mid the fierce strife and tumult of the world,
The crush of all the elements of woe, --
Unshaken by their terrors, looking forth
With placid eye on life's uncertain sea,
Whether its waves were darkly swelling high
Or dancing in the sunshine, -- then might frown
The clouds of fate around me! Firm in faith,
Pointing serenely to that better world,
Where there is peace, would I abide the storm,
Unmindful of its rage and of its end.

" - Epes Sargent
(1813 - 1880) American editor, poet and playwright. [bark=ship]
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[Quote No.53114] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about nature in particular life by the sea]

'The Sea-Breeze at Matanzas'

After a night of languor without rest, --
Striving to sleep, yet wishing morn might come,
By the pent, scorching atmosphere oppressed,
Impatient of the vile mosquito's hum, --
With what reviving freshness from the sea,
Its airy plumage glittering with the spray,
Comes the strong day-breeze, rushing joyously
Into the bright arms of the encircling bay!
It tempers the keen ardor of the sun;
The drooping frame with life renewed it fills;
It lashes the green waters as they run;
It sways the graceful palm-tree on the hills;
It breathes of ocean solitudes, and caves,
Luminous, vast and cool, far down beneath the waves.

" - Epes Sargent
(1813 - 1880) American editor, poet and playwright.
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[Quote No.53144] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:]

'Who Knows a Mountain?'

Who knows a mountain?
One who has gone
To worship its beauty
In the dawn;
One who has slept
On its breast at night;
One who has measured
His strength to its height;

One who has followed
Its longest trail,
And laughed in the face
Of its fiercest gale;
One who has scaled its peaks,
And has trod
Its cloud-swept summits
Alone with God.

" - Ethel Romig Fuller
(1883-1965) American poet. She was Oregon’s third poet laureate, from 1957 until her death and was once credited as someone who 'sees a poem in everything'. She began writing poetry at age thirty-eight when her two children were in their teens, renting office space in downtown Portland where she wrote every day. She made her first $10 (the equivalent of $130 today) selling a poem to 'Garden Magazine' in 1924, and in the next five to six years published fifteen poems in 'Poetry' magazine and many others in places like 'Out West Magazine', 'Life', 'College Humor', 'Good Housekeeping', 'Wee Wisdom', the 'American Mercury', the 'New York Times' and other newspapers. Her New Verse poem 'Proof?' was so widely reprinted after its 1927 appearance in 'Sunset' magazine that the 'New York Times' called it 'the most quoted poem in contemporary English literature.' [refer http://mikechasar.blogspot.com.au/ Nov. 17th 2014 and http://www.oregonpoeticvoices.org/poet/4/ ]
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[Quote No.53145] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the joy of flowers in a garden]

'My Neighbor's Roses'

The roses red upon my neighbor's vine
Are owned by him, but they are also mine.
His was the cost, and his the labor, too,
But mine as well as his the joy, their loveliness to view.
They bloom for me and are for me as fair
As for the man who gives them all his care.
Thus I am rich because a good man grew
A rose-clad vine for all his neighbor's view.

I know from this that others plant for me,
And what they own my joy may also be;
So why be selfish when so much that's fine
Is grown for you upon your neighbor's vine?

" - A. L. Gruber

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[Quote No.53148] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about getting away from the noisy city to relax in the country with your lover]

'Away'

I weary of these noisy nights,
Of shallow jest and coarse 'good cheer,'
Of jazzy sounds and brilliant lights.
Come, Love, let us away from here.

Let us lay down this heavy load;
And, side by side, far from the town,
Drive on some lovely country road;
And, wondering, watch the sun go down.

What time is left to us, come, Love.
The woods, the fields, shall make us whole;
The nightly pageantry above
Our little world, keep sweet our soul.

No peace this city's madness yields —
A tawdry world in cheap veneer.
Out there the lovely woods and fields.
Come, Love, let us away from here.

" - Max Ehrmann

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[Quote No.53154] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:]

'Walking In The Rain'

The slanting rain strikes sharply through the trees
Whipping the fluttering leaves from the slender stem
To lie bedraggled on the storm-swept ground
Or blow about in rushing, swirling breeze.
The rain beats finely on the walker's face,
Cooling his passions heat to sane reserve,
Quickens the blood, excited the dormant mind.
He pushes against the wind with brisker pace,
Knowing a savage joy in honest fight
Against the unleashed, moving elements,
The whirling wind and driving rain,
And in the coolness finds a keen delight.

" - John Holmes
(1904 – 1962), born John Albert Holmes Jr., he was an American poet and critic, who taught at Tufts University (near Boston, in the eastern U.S. state of Massachusetts) as a professor of literature and modern poetry for 28 years.
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[Quote No.53156] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:]

'Autumn'

The pungent odor of wood-smoke
Hangs o'er the country side,
And the leaves are falling, falling,
In the woodlands far and wide.
The green hills turn to yellow,
And the yellow to bronze and brown.
The air is sleepy and hazy,
And an autumn sun beats down.

" - John Holmes
(1904 – 1962), born John Albert Holmes Jr., he was an American poet and critic, who taught at Tufts University (near Boston, in the eastern U.S. state of Massachusetts) as a professor of literature and modern poetry for 28 years.
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[Quote No.53157] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:]

'Voice Of The Sea'

Trees speak in gentle low-voiced murmurings;
Brooks in the mountains sing a melody;
But no voice speaks with accents awe-inspiring
As the stern roaring of the mighty sea.
Deep is the thunder of the pounding surf
That beats recurrent on the far-stretched sand;
Deeper the hoarse voiced wind that sweeps
Out of the endless sea across the open land.

" - John Holmes
(1904 – 1962), born John Albert Holmes Jr., he was an American poet and critic, who taught at Tufts University (near Boston, in the eastern U.S. state of Massachusetts) as a professor of literature and modern poetry for 28 years.
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[Quote No.53160] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:]

'Walking On The Beach'

The fog rolls all about, a soft gray floating cloak,
Come from the sea, all damp and still,
To wreathe the beach in billowy clouds like smoke.
On one side is the dim low silvery line
Of plunging wave upon the sand,
And on the other, faint, the curving dunes
Where crawling beach grass and the scraggly pine
Make odd unworldly shapes.

" - John Holmes
(1904 – 1962), born John Albert Holmes Jr., he was an American poet and critic, who taught at Tufts University (near Boston, in the eastern U.S. state of Massachusetts) as a professor of literature and modern poetry for 28 years.
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[Quote No.53169] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the beauty of flowers in particular buttercups and daisies]

'Buttercups and Daisies'

I never see a young hand hold
The starry bunch of white and gold,
But something warm and fresh will start
About the region of my heart; -
My smile expires into a sigh;
I feel a struggling in my eye,
'Twixt humid drop and sparkling ray,
Till rolling tears have won their way;
For, soul and brain will travel back,
Through memory's chequer'd mazes,
To days, when I but trod life's track
For buttercups and daisies.

There seems a bright and fairy spell
About there very names to dwell;
And though old Time has mark'd my brow
With care and thought, I love them now.
Smile, if you will, but some heartstrings
Are closest link'd to simplest things;
And these wild flowers will hold mine fast,
Till love, and life, and all be past;
And then the only wish I have
Is, that the one who raises
The turf sod o'er me, plant my grave
With buttercups and daisies.

" - Eliza Cook
(1818 – 1889) English author, Chartist poet and writer born in London Road, Southwark.
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[Quote No.53212] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about nature and the changing seasons from youthful spring to aging fall]

'Let Him Return'

Who, in the brief, incredible northern spring,
Has watched plum petals fall and pear bloom go,
And has observed the sun's slow subtle swing
Toward high summer, and seen blackberry snow
Drifting in swamps where wild blue flags are tall,
Let him return in the acrid, windy fall.

Let him return when color runs and spills
Across the land he loved; let him return
When smoke lies purple on the shadowy hills
Of a lifted country where the maples burn
Scarlet in upland woods and dark birds cry
Poised on a curve of gusty autumn sky.

" - Leona Ames Hill

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[Quote No.53217] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the journey and song of a small river]

'The Brook'

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery water-break
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows,
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars,
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

" - Alfred Lord Tennyson
(1809 – 1892) Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson, FRS Poet Laureate of Great Britain and Ireland during much of Queen Victoria's reign. He remains one of the most popular British poets.
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[Quote No.53219] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the eagle's solitary majesty]

'The Eagle'

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

" - Alfred Lord Tennyson
(1809 – 1892) Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson, FRS Poet Laureate of Great Britain and Ireland during much of Queen Victoria's reign. He remains one of the most popular British poets.
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[Quote No.53232] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the restorative benefits of nature to brighten emotional gloom]

'Little Heartbreak'

A little heartbreak, wan and sore,
was sitting by herself.
A sunbeam slipped around the door
and danced upon a shelf.

Though little Heartbreak knew not why,
she ceased, quite suddenly, to cry.

Still little Heartbreak sat alone.
'I never will be whole again,'
thus said she in her saddest tone,
'I never will be healed of pain.'

Then, unannounced, a little breeze
that had been playing in the trees,
passed softly over Heartbreak's face,
and, lo! of tears there was no trace.

Then when a bird began to sing,
and Heartbreak couldn't help but hear,
there happened such a curious thing -
a silvern echo did appear,

enthroned itself in Heartbreak's breast
and, like the bird, sang with sweet zest!

So little Heart-break tossed her head
and laughed to find the world so fair.
'It's true,' she cried, 'My heart has bled,
and I have lived with black despair.

But I can't be quite broken, long -
with sunbeams, zephyrs, and birds' song!'

" - Wilhelmina Stitch
(1888-1936) Wilhelmina Stich is the pseudonym of Ruth Jacobs Cohen Collie. She was a writer, lecturer and poet - called 'The Poem A Day Lady'. Born at Cambridgeshire, England in 1888, daughter of I. W. Jacobs, she married E. Arakie Cohen while he was visiting England and returned with him to Winnipeg, the capital and largest city of the province of Manitoba, Canada. They had one son, Ralph. After her husband’s death in 1919, she was forced to seek employment to support herself and her son. Her friends encouraged her to submit her writing for publication, which led to a successful career as a writer which continued to the time of her death. Writing under the pen names 'Sheila Rand' or 'Wilhelmina Stitch', she had poetry and stories published in the Winnipeg Tribune and the Winnipeg Telegram. In time, she became, in the words an obituary, 'one of the best-known women writers in the British Empire'. She later remarried to Scottish physician Frank K. Collie and moved with him to London, England where she died on 6 March 1936. [refer http://www.mhs.mb.ca/docs/people/collie_rjc.shtml and http://content.lib.sfu.ca/cdm/ref/collection/ceww/id/254 ]
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[Quote No.53240] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about good growing out of bad, just like spring is the 'silver lining' of rain-clouds; so be hopeful - things are getting better.]

'Easter Thoughts'

Little growing things, pushing through the earth,
Petals for soft wings, bells to echo mirth.
Little bud and leaf, spite of winter's pain,
Spite of nature's grief, they are here again.

Little growing things, roots are in my heart.
Hark! the robin sings. Sorrow must depart.
Doubts and chilly fears! Winter now is o'er,
Wipe away your tears. Courage ! rise once more.

Courage has not fled, Simply slept awhile.
Hope, that you deemed dead, Revived beneath a smile.
Good cannot be slain, beauty never dies,
Spring has come again, soul of man, arise.

Arise and go forth now. Easter calls to you.
Blossoms on the bough, spirit burgeons, too.
The Lenten lilies sing 'From dead self, arise,'
While every growing thing says, 'Beauty never dies.'

" - Wilhelmina Stitch
(1888-1936) Wilhelmina Stich is the pseudonym of Ruth Jacobs Cohen Collie. She was a writer, lecturer and poet - called 'The Poem A Day Lady'. Born at Cambridgeshire, England in 1888, daughter of I. W. Jacobs, she married E. Arakie Cohen while he was visiting England and returned with him to Winnipeg, the capital and largest city of the province of Manitoba, Canada. They had one son, Ralph. After her husband’s death in 1919, she was forced to seek employment to support herself and her son. Her friends encouraged her to submit her writing for publication, which led to a successful career as a writer which continued to the time of her death. Writing under the pen names 'Sheila Rand' or 'Wilhelmina Stitch', she had poetry and stories published in the Winnipeg Tribune and the Winnipeg Telegram. In time, she became, in the words an obituary, 'one of the best-known women writers in the British Empire'. She later remarried to Scottish physician Frank K. Collie and moved with him to London, England where she died on 6 March 1936. [refer http://www.mhs.mb.ca/docs/people/collie_rjc.shtml and http://content.lib.sfu.ca/cdm/ref/collection/ceww/id/254 ]
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[Quote No.53242] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the joy of spring]

'Miracle Of Spring'

Were I to live a thousand years
I still would know that flaming thrill,
That rush of joy when first appears
- the golden daffodil.

A thousand times my heart would sing
When purple irises unfold;
Or when forsythia's branches bring
Their dazzling showers of gold.

I could not see an almond tree
with branches all a rosy glow
But that a tide of ecstasy
would through my being flow.

Were I to see, a thousand times,
blue scilla bells amid green grass,
I know I'd hear their fairy chimes
as I would pass.

Were I to live a thousand years
I'd never watch the nesting birds
Except through eyes bedimmed with tears,
my tongue bereft of words.

Were I to weave ten thousand lays,
knew I a thousand songs to sing,
I still would lack the power to praise
- the miracle of Spring.

" - Wilhelmina Stitch
(1888-1936) Wilhelmina Stich is the pseudonym of Ruth Jacobs Cohen Collie. She was a writer, lecturer and poet - called 'The Poem A Day Lady'. Born at Cambridgeshire, England in 1888, daughter of I. W. Jacobs, she married E. Arakie Cohen while he was visiting England and returned with him to Winnipeg, the capital and largest city of the province of Manitoba, Canada. They had one son, Ralph. After her husband’s death in 1919, she was forced to seek employment to support herself and her son. Her friends encouraged her to submit her writing for publication, which led to a successful career as a writer which continued to the time of her death. Writing under the pen names 'Sheila Rand' or 'Wilhelmina Stitch', she had poetry and stories published in the Winnipeg Tribune and the Winnipeg Telegram. In time, she became, in the words an obituary, 'one of the best-known women writers in the British Empire'. She later remarried to Scottish physician Frank K. Collie and moved with him to London, England where she died on 6 March 1936. [refer http://www.mhs.mb.ca/docs/people/collie_rjc.shtml and http://content.lib.sfu.ca/cdm/ref/collection/ceww/id/254 ]
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[Quote No.53271] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:- about nature and it can act as a metaphor for individual aging and the eventual mystery of death and society's generations]

'A Song Of Autumn'

'Where shall we go for our garlands glad
At the falling of the year,
When the burnt-up banks are yellow and sad,
When the boughs are yellow and sere?
Where are the old ones that once we had,
And where are the new ones near?
What shall we do for our garlands glad
At the falling of the year?'

'Child! Can I tell where the garlands go?
Can I say where the lost leaves veer
On the brown-burnt banks, when the wild winds blow,
When they drift through the dead-wood drear?
Girl! When the garlands of next year glow,
You may gather again, my dear -
But I go where the last year’s lost leaves go
At the falling of the year.'

" - Adam Lindsay Gordon
(1833 – 1870) Australian poet, jockey and politician. [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Song_of_Autumn ]
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[Quote No.53311] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about enjoying nature, especially in the spring]

'Loveliest of Trees'

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

" - A. E. Housman
(1859 – 1936), Alfred Edward Housman, usually known as A. E. Housman, was an English classical scholar and poet.
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[Quote No.53313] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:- about sunrise and sunset, which can act as a metaphor for life and death]

'XVI - How clear, how lovely bright'


How clear, how lovely bright,
How beautiful to sight
Those beams of morning play;
How heaven laughs out with glee
Where, like a bird set free,
Up from the eastern sea
Soars the delightful day.

...

Ensanguining the skies
How heavily it dies
Into the west away;
Past touch and sight and sound
Not further to be found,
How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day.

" - A. E. Housman
(1859 – 1936), Alfred Edward Housman, usually known as A. E. Housman, was an English classical scholar and poet. This poem is from his book, 'More Poems'.
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[Quote No.53405] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the joy of nature especially flowers]

'Red Geraniums'

Life did not bring me silken gowns,
Nor jewels for my hair,
Nor signs of gabled foreign towns
In distant countries fair,
But I can glimpse, beyond my pane, a green and friendly hill,
And red geraniums aflame upon my window sill.

The brambled cares of everyday,
The tiny humdrum things,
May bind my feet when they would stray,
But still my heart has wings
While red geraniums are bloomed against my window glass,
And low above my green-sweet hill the gypsy wind-clouds pass

...

" - Martha Haskell Clark

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[Quote No.53432] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about autumn in Ohio and Indiana, USA]

'Autumn in the West'

The autumn time is with us. Its approach
Was heralded, not many days ago,
By Hazy skies that veiled the brazen sun,
And sea-like murmurs from the rustling corn,
And low-voiced brooks that wandered drowsily
By pendant clusters of empurpling grapes
Swinging upon the vine. And now, 'tis here!
And what a change hath passed upon the face
Of nature, where the waving forest spreads,
Then robed in deepest green! All through the night
The subtle frost has plied its magic art;
And in the day the golden sun hath wrought
True wonders; and the winds of morn and even
Have touched with magic breath the changing leaves.
And now, as wanders the dilating eye
Athwart the varied landscape, circling far,
What gorgeousness, what blazonry, what pomp
Of colors bursts upon the ravished sight!
Here, where the poplar rears its yellow crest,
A golden glory;, yond, where the oak
Stands monarch of the forest, and the ash
Is girt with flame-like parasite, and broad
The dogwood spreads beneath, and fringing all,
The sumac blushes to the ground, a flood
Of deepest crimson; and afar, where looms
The gnarled gum, a cloud of bloodiest red.

Out in the woods of autumn! I have cast
Aside the shackles of the town, that vex
The fetterless soul, and come to hide myself,
Miami! in thy venerable shades.
Here where seclusion looks out on a scene
Of matchless beauty, I will pause awhile,
And on this bank with varied mosses crowned
Gently recline. Beneath me, silver-bright,
Glide the calm waters, with a plaintive moan
For summer's parting glories. High o'er-head,
Seeking the sedgy brinks of still lagoons
That bask in southern suns the winter through,
Sails tireless the unerring waterfowl,
Screaming among the cloud-racks. Oft from where,
In bushy covert hid, the partridge stands,
Bursts suddenly the whistle clear and loud,
Far-echoing through the dim wood's fretted aisles.
Deep murmurs from the trees, bending with brown
And ripened mast, are interrupted oft
By sounds of dropping nuts; and warily
The turkey from the thicket comes, and swift
As flies an arrow darts the pheasant down,
To batten on the autumn; and the air,
At times, is darkened by a sudden rush
Of myriad wings, as the wild pigeon leads
His squadrons to the banquet. Far away,
Where tranquil goves on sunny slopes supply
Their liberal store of fruits, the merry laugh
Of children, and the truant school-boy's shout,
Ring on the air, as, from the hollows borne,
Nuts load their creaking carts, and lush pawpaws
Their motley baskets fill, with clustering grapes
And golden-sphered persimmons spread o'er all.

" - William Davis Gallagher
(1808 - 1894) American journalist and poet. Davis was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and after the death of his father moved with his family to Mount Healthy, Ohio. The 'West' of the poem's title, refers to Ohio and Indiana, which marked the western frontier at the time this poem was written in the 1830s. [Refer search engine for Ohio woods images-photos]
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[Quote No.53436] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the joys of Autumn - in the Northern hemisphere]

'October's Bright Blue Weather'

O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;

When loud the bumblebee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And goldenrod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fingers tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October's bright blue weather.

O sun and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.

" - Helen Hunt Jackson
(1830 – 1885), Helen Maria Hunt Jackson, born Helen Fiske was an American poet and writer who became an activist on behalf of improved treatment of Native Americans by the U.S. government.
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[Quote No.53455] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the seasons throughout the calendar year - in the Northern hemisphere]


'A Calendar of Sonnets'


January:

O winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
The streams than under ice. June could not hire
Her roses to forego the strength they learn
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
In vain to build.
O Heart, when Love's sun goes
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows,
The winter is the winter's own release.


February:

Still lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white;
And reigns the winter's pregnant silence still;
No sign of spring, save that the catkins fill,
And willow stems grow daily red and bright.
These are the days when ancients held a rite
Of expiation for the old year's ill,
And prayer to purify the new year's will:
Fit days, ere yet the spring rains blur the sight,
Ere yet the bounding blood grows hot with haste,
And dreaming thoughts grow heavy with a greed
The ardent summer's joy to have and taste;
Fit days, to give to last year's losses heed,
To reckon clear the new life's sterner need;
Fit days, for Feast of Expiation placed!


March:

Month which the warring ancients strangely styled
The month of war, -- as if in their fierce ways
Were any month of peace! -- in thy rough days
I find no war in Nature, though the wild
Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled
At feet of writhing trees. The violets raise
Their heads without affright, without amaze,
And sleep through all the din, as sleeps a child.
And he who watches well may well discern
Sweet expectation in each living thing.
Like pregnant mother the sweet earth doth yearn;
In secret joy makes ready for the spring;
And hidden, sacred, in her breast doth bear
Annunciation lilies for the year.


April:

No days such honored days as these! When yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April's name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine,
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth
Of spring anemones, in Palestine.


May:

O month when they who love must love and wed!
Were one to go to worlds where May is naught,
And seek to tell the memories he had brought
From earth of thee, what were most fitly said?
I know not if the rosy showers shed
From apple-boughs, or if the soft green wrought
In fields, or if the robin's call be fraught
The most with thy delight. Perhaps they read
Thee best who in the ancient time did say
Thou wert the sacred month unto the old:
No blossom blooms upon thy brightest day
So subtly sweet as memories which unfold
In aged hearts which in thy sunshine lie,
To sun themselves once more before they die.


June:

O month whose promise and fulfilment blend,
And burst in one! it seems the earth can store
In all her roomy house no treasure more;
Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend
On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end.
And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before
It hath made ready at its hidden core
Its tithe of seed, which we may count and tend
Till harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for thee
Seems it no fairer thing can yet have birth?
No room is left for deeper ecstasy?
Watch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter free
Germs for thy future summers on the earth.
A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth.


July:

Some flowers are withered and some joys have died;
The garden reeks with an East Indian scent
From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent;
The white heat pales the skies from side to side;
But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content,
Like starry blooms on a new firmament,
White lilies float and regally abide.
In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed;
The lily does not feel their brazen glare.
In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share
Their dews; the lily feels no thirst, no dread.
Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head;
She drinks of living waters and keeps fair.


August:

Silence again. The glorious symphony
Hath need of pause and interval of peace.
Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease,
Save hum of insects' aimless industry.
Pathetic summer seeks by blazonry
Of color to conceal her swift decrease.
Weak subterfuge! Each mocking day doth fleece
A blossom, and lay bare her poverty.
Poor middle-agèd summer! Vain this show!
Whole fields of golden-rod cannot offset
One meadow with a single violet;
And well the singing thrush and lily know,
Spite of all artifice which her regret
Can deck in splendid guise, their time to go!


September:

O golden month! How high thy gold is heaped!
The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung
On wands; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue
To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped
In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped;
And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among
The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung
Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped
The purple grape, -- last thing to ripen, late
By very reason of its precious cost.
O Heart, remember, vintages are lost
If grapes do not for freezing night-dews wait.
Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy's estate,
Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost!


October:

The month of carnival of all the year,
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way
And spend whole seasons on a single day.
The spring-time holds her white and purple dear;
October, lavish, flaunts them far and near;
The summer charily her reds doth lay
Like jewels on her costliest array;
October, scornful, burns them on a bier.
The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign
Of kingdom: whiter pearls than winter knew,
Or Empress wore, in Egypt's ancient line,
October, feasting 'neath her dome of blue,
Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered through
Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine!


November:

This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays
Will idly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet's day of pain?


December:

The lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes
Of water 'neath the summer sunshine gleamed:
Far fairer than when placidly it streamed,
The brook its frozen architecture makes,
And under bridges white its swift way takes.
Snow comes and goes as messenger who dreamed
Might linger on the road; or one who deemed
His message hostile gently for their sakes
Who listened might reveal it by degrees.
We gird against the cold of winter wind
Our loins now with mighty bands of sleep,
In longest, darkest nights take rest and ease,
And every shortening day, as shadows creep
O'er the brief noontide, fresh surprises find.

" - Helen Hunt Jackson
(1830 – 1885), Helen Maria Hunt Jackson, born Helen Fiske was an American poet and writer who became an activist on behalf of improved treatment of Native Americans by the U.S. government. This collection of sonnets was first published in 1886.
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[Quote No.53464] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about nature especially mountains]

'Climb The Mountains'

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings,
Nature's peace will flow unto you as sunshine
flows unto trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness unto you,
And the storms their energy;
While cares will drop off like autumn leaves.

" - John Muir

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[Quote No.53465] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:]

'Tree At My Window'

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.

Vague dream-head lifted out the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.

But, tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.

That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.

" - Robert Frost

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[Quote No.53466] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:]

'Autumn Chant'

Now the autumn shudders
In the rose's root,
Far and wide the ladders
Lean among the fruit.

Now the autumn clambers
Up the trellised frame
And the rose remembers
The dust from which it came.

Brighter than the blossom
On the rose's bough
Sits the wizened, orange,
Bitter berry now;

Beauty never slumbers;
All is in her name;
But the rose remembers
The dust from which it came.

" - Edna St. Vincent Millay

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[Quote No.53468] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem:]

'Trees'

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

" - Alfred Joyce Kilmer
(1886 – 1918) American journalist, poet, literary critic, lecturer, and editor. Though a prolific poet whose works celebrated the common beauty of the natural world as well as his religious faith, Kilmer is remembered most for this poem (1913).
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[Quote No.53491] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about wandering in nature for the sheer pleasure]

'The Path That Leads Nowhere'

There's a path that leads to Nowhere
In a meadow that I know,
Where an inland island rises
And the stream is still and slow;
There it wanders under willows,
And beneath the silver green
Of the birches' silent shadows
Where the early violets lean.

Other pathways lead to Somewhere,
But the one I love so well
Has no end and no beginning -
Just the beauty of the dell,
Just the wind-flowers and the lilies
Yellow-striped as adder's tongue,
Seem to satisfy my pathway
As it winds their scents among.

There I go to meet the Springtime,
When the meadow is aglow,
Marigolds amid the marshes, -
And the stream is still and slow.
There I find my fair oasis,
And with care-free feet I tread
For the pathway leads to Nowhere,
And the blue is overhead!

All the ways that lead to Somewhere
Echo with the hurrying feet
Of the Struggling and the Striving,
But the way I find so sweet
Bids me dream and bids me linger,
Joy and Beauty are its goal, -
On the path that leads to Nowhere
I have sometimes found my soul!

" - Corinne Roosevelt Robinson
(1861-1933), American poet, writer, lecturer, and public speaker. She was also the younger sister of former President of the United States Theodore Roosevelt and an aunt of former First Lady of the United States, Eleanor Roosevelt.
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[Quote No.53526] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the joy of sunshine]

'Summer Sun'

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.

" - Robert Louis Stevenson
(1850 – 1894) Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, travel writer and a literary celebrity during his lifetime. He now ranks among the 26 most translated authors in the world.
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[Quote No.53559] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"[Poem: about the joy and peace of nature]

'Far From The Madding Crowd'

It seems to me I'd like to go
Where bells don't ring, nor whistles blow,
Nor clocks don't strike, nor gongs sound,
And I'd have stillness all around.

Not real stillness, but just the trees,
Low whispering, or the hum of bees,
Or brooks faint babbling over stones,
In strangely, softly tangled tones.

Or maybe a cricket or katydid,
Or the songs of birds in the hedges hid,
Or just some such sweet sound as these,
To fill a tired heart with ease.

It 'tweren't for sight and sound and smell,
I'd like the city pretty well,
But when it comes to getting rest,
I like the country lots the best.

Sometimes it seems to me I must
Just quit the city's din and dust,
And get out where the sky is blue,
And say, now, how does it seem to you?

" - Nixon Waterman
(1859 - 1944) American newspaper writer, poet and Chautauqua lecturer, who rose to prominence in the 1890s.
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[Quote No.53693] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"The moment one gives close attention to any thing, even a blade of grass it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself!" - Henry Miller

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[Quote No.53696] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"In all things of nature there is something of the marvellous." - Aristotle
(384 BC - 322 BC)
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[Quote No.53698] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike." - John Muir

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[Quote No.53699] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life.... Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts." - Rachel Carson

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[Quote No.54040] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view." - Edward Abbey

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[Quote No.54184] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien

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[Quote No.54192] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"The tree on the mountain takes whatever the weather brings. If it has any choice at all, it is in putting down roots as deeply as possible." - Corrie ten Boom
(1892 - 1987)
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[Quote No.54595] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"Love the earth and sun and the animals..." - Walt Whitman
Quote from the preface to his famous book, 'Leaves of Grass'.
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[Quote No.54646] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"Everybody should be quiet near a little stream and listen." - Ruth Krauss

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[Quote No.54678] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life." - Jack London

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[Quote No.54830] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life." - John Muir

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[Quote No.54831] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"Another glorious day, the air as delicious to the lungs as nectar to the tongue." - John Muir

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[Quote No.54832] Need Area: Property > Garden/Nature
"Society speaks and all men listen, mountains speak and wise men listen." - John Muir

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