flowers (n.)
- album
- ana
- analects
- anthology
- canon
- catamenia
- chrestomathy
- collection
- compilation
- florilegium
- garden
- garland
- menses
- menstruation
- miscellanea
- miscellany
- omnibus
- period
- scrapbook
- symposium
Roses red and violets blew,
And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew.
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
For, lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.
Flowers are lovely; love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
Oh the joys that came down shower-like,
Of friendship, love, and liberty,
Ere I was old!
As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee.
As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.
Fall on me like a silent dew,
Or like those maiden showers
Which, by the peep of day, do strew
A baptism o'er the flowers.
Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
Buy my flowers,—oh buy, I pray!
The blind girl comes from afar.
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise.
The primal duties shine aloft, like stars;
The charities that soothe and heal and bless
Are scattered at the feet of man like flowers.
As Jupiter
On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds
That shed May flowers.
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Sydneian showers
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.
Earth laughs in flowers to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;
Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet
Clear of the grave.
O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength,—a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Of all the floures in the mede,
Than love I most these floures white and rede,
Soch that men callen daisies in our toun.
Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.
No path of flowers leads to glory.
I have here only made a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own but the thread that ties them together.
Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.
The flowers of the forest are a' wide awae.
Too late I stayed,—forgive the crime!
Unheeded flew the hours;
How noiseless falls the foot of time
That only treads on flowers.
Proserpine gathering flowers,
Herself a fairer flower.
Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes
That on the green turf suck the honied showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears.
At shut of evening flowers.
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.
Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes, like the warbling of music) than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air.
And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes, like the warbling of music) than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air.
Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold.
Roses red and violets blew,
And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew.
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost.
What more felicitie can fall to creature
Than to enjoy delight with libertie,
And to be lord of all the workes of Nature,
To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie,
To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature.
When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil.
Of all the floures in the mede,
Than love I most these floures white and rede,
Soch that men callen daisies in our toun.
Flowers worthy of paradise.
