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 such perfection.
I wonder what spendthrift chose to spill Such a bright gold under my windowsill! Is it fair gold? Does it glitter still? Bless me! It's a daffodil! - Celia Thaxter
I wonder what spendthrift chose to spill Such a bright gold under my windowsill! Is it fair gold? Does it glitter still? Bless me! It's a daffodil!
- Celia Thaxter
I am fully and intensely aware that plants are conscious of love and respond to it as they do to nothing else. - Celia Thaxter
I am fully and intensely aware that plants are conscious of love and respond to it as they do to nothing else.
Early in April, as I was vigorously hoeing in a corner, I unearthed a huge toad, to my perfect delight and satisfaction; he had lived all winter, he … - Celia Thaxter
Early in April, as I was vigorously hoeing in a corner, I unearthed a huge toad, to my perfect delight and satisfaction; he had lived all winter, he …
To stand by the beds at sunrise and see the flowers awake is a heavenly delight. - Celia Thaxter
To stand by the beds at sunrise and see the flowers awake is a heavenly delight.
Peacefully The quiet stars came out, one after one; The holy twilight fell upon the sea, The summer day was done. - Celia Thaxter
Peacefully The quiet stars came out, one after one; The holy twilight fell upon the sea, The summer day was done.
One golden day redeems a weary year - Celia Thaxter
One golden day redeems a weary year
As I work among my flowers, I find myself talking to them, reasoning and remonstrating with them, and adoring them as if they were human beings. Much… - Celia Thaxter
As I work among my flowers, I find myself talking to them, reasoning and remonstrating with them, and adoring them as if they were human beings. Much…
When the snow is still blowing against the window-pane in January and February and the wild winds are howling without, what pleasure it is to plan fo… - Celia Thaxter
When the snow is still blowing against the window-pane in January and February and the wild winds are howling without, what pleasure it is to plan fo…
Across the narrow beach we flit, One little sand-piper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry, The wild wav… - Celia Thaxter
Across the narrow beach we flit, One little sand-piper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry, The wild wav…
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