Where has thou been all the dumb winter days When neither sunlight was nor smile of flowers, Neither life, nor love, nor frolic, Only expanse melanch….

Thought, stumbling, plods Past fallen temples, vanished gods, Altars unincensed, fanes undecked, Eternal systems flown or wrecked; Through trackless ….

My virgin sense of sound was steeped In the music of young streams; And roses through the casement peeped, And scented all my dreams..

Is life worth living? Yes, so long As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo's song, To show that she is here..

We come from the earth, we return to the earth, and in between we garden..

In my song you catch at times Note sweeter far than mine, And in the tangle of my rhymes Can scent the eglantine..

Is life worth living? Yes, so long as there is wrong to right. So long as faith with freedom reigns and loyal hope survives, And gracious charity ….

So, timely you came, and well you chose, You came when most needed, my winter rose. From the snow I pluck you, and fondly press Your leaves 'twixt th….

Pale January lay In its cradle day by day Dead or living, hard to say..

Alfred Austin said, "Show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.".

Have you never, when waves were breaking, watched children at sport on the beach, With their little feet tempting the foam-fringe, till with stronger….

Life seems like a haunted wood, where we tremble and crouch and cry..

Tears are summer showers to the soul..

There is no gardening without humility. Nature is constantly sending even its oldest scholars to the bottom of the class for some egregious blunder..

Though my verse but roam the air And murmur in the trees, You may discern a purpose there, As in music of the bees..

The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul. Sha….

Imagination in poetry, as distinguished from mere fancy is the transfiguring of the real or actual to the ideal..

A garden that one makes oneself becomes associated with one’s personal history and that of one’s friends, interwoven with one’s tastes, preferences a….

He is dead already who doth not feel Life is worth living still..

Public opinion is no more than this: what people think that other people think..

The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul..