Daily Garden Reflections

I long for the rain, the dull long rain, for farmlands and ploughlands and cornlands again. O grey broken skies, you were part of my pain!

But here, unhated for an hour, the sorrel runs in ragged flame, the daisy stands, a bastard flower, like flowers that bear an honest name.

Was it worth while to paint so fair thy every leaf — to vein with faultless art each petal, taking the boon light and air of summer so to heart?

One of the greatest virtues of gardening is this perpetual renewal of youth and spring, of promise of flower and fruit.

There is a garden in her face where roses and white lilies grow; a heav'nly paradise is that place wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.

Life on a small farm might seem primitive, but by living such a life we become able to discover the great path.

Lord, I ask a garden in a quiet spot where there may be a brook with a good flow, a humble little house covered with bell-flowers.

The sower may mistake and sow his peas crookedly; the peas make no mistake, but come up and show his line.

By the side of a wall in a garden gay, a little rose-bush grew; in the first dear days of the month of May, loved by the sun and dew.

Shed no tear for the dying year or that sublime decay which marks the ignominious end of kinds and worn-out things. Make way for spring!

Love, it is the time of roses! In bright fields and garden-closes how they burgeon and unfold! How they sweep o'er tombs and towers.

Morning is the best of all times in the garden. The sun is not yet hot. Sweet vapors rise from the earth. Birds call to one another.