Like the musician, the painter, the poet and the rest, the true lover of flowers is born, not made..

Oh, I never meant, in my old age, to become subject to the thrall of a love like this; it is almost dreadful, so absorbing, so stirring down to the d….

Once more their weird laughter of the loons comes to my ear, the distance lends it a musical, melancholy sound. For a dangerous ledge off the lighth….

Of all the wonderful things in the wonderful universe of God, nothing seems to me more surprising than the planting of a seed in the blank earth and ….

So deeply is the gardener's instinct implanted in my soul, I really love the tools with which I work; the iron fork, the spade, the hoe, the rake, th….

The eternal sound of the sea on every side has a tendency to wear away the edge of human thought and perception..

This very act of planting a seed in the earth has in it to me something beautiful. I always do it with a joy that is largely mixed with awe..

Dear little head, that lies in calm content Within the gracious hollow that God made In every human shoulder, where He meant Some tired head for comf….

Already the dandelions Are changed into vanishing ghosts..

When in these fresh mornings I go into my garden before any one is awake, I go for the time being into perfect happiness..

O happy, happy morning! O dear, familiar place! / O warm, sweet tears of Heaven, fast falling on my face! / O well-remembered, rainy wind, blow all m….

There shall be an eternal summer in the grateful heart..

It seems to me the worst of all the plagues is the slug, the snail without a shell. He is beyond description repulsive, a mass of sooty, shapeless sl….

The toad has indeed no superior as a destroyer of noxious insects, and he possesses no bad habits and is entirely inoffensive himself, every owner of….

As I hold the flower in my hand and think of trying to describe it, I realize how poor a creature I am, how impotent are words in the presence of suc….

The heart of God through his creation stirs, We thrill to feel it, trembling as the flowers That die to live again, his messengers, To keep faith fir….

It is curious that the leaf should so love the light and the root so hate it..

As the days go on toward July, the earth becomes dry and all the flowers begin to thirst for moisture. Then from the hillside, some warm, still even….

Soon will set in the fitful weather, with fierce gales and sullen skies and frosty air, and it will be time to tuck up safely my roses and lillies an….

Like the musician, the painter, the poet, and the rest, the true lover of flowers is born, not made. And he is born to happiness in this vale of tear….

Look to the East, where up the lucid sky; the morning climbs! The day shall yet be fair..