Peacefully The quiet stars came out, one after one; The holy twilight fell upon the sea, The summer day was done.
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 …
Peacefully The quiet stars came out, one after one; The holy twilight fell upon the sea, The summer day was done. - Celia Thaxter
One golden day redeems a weary year - Celia Thaxter
One golden day redeems a weary year
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…
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.
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…
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… - Celia Thaxter
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…
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