Quotes About Wild-rose

When a man can look upon the simple wild-rose, and feel no pleasure, his taste has been corrupted.

Memory My mind lets go a thousand things, Like dates of wars and deaths of kings, And yet recalls the very hour—'T was noon by yonder village tower, And on the last blue noon in May—The wind came briskly up this way, Crisping the brook beside the road; Then, pausing here, set down its load Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly Two petals from that wild-rose tree.