Quotes About Nature

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,And all the air a solemn stillness holds,Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,The plowman homeward plods his weary way,And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn.

Far from the sun and summer-gale,In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid.

The meanest floweret of the vale,The simplest note that swells the gale,The common sun, the air, the skies,To him are opening paradise.

Iron sleet of arrowy showerHurtles in the darken'd air.

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'rThe moping owl does to the moon complain.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

A FLOWER THAT SMILES TODAY , TOMORROW DIES. ALL THAT WE WISH TO STAY, TEMPTS AND THEN FILES

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade, Ah, fields belov'd in vain, Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.

As in nature, as in art, so in grace it is rough treatment that gives souls, as well as stones, their luster.

All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee; All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see; All Discord, Harmony not understood All partial Evil, universal Good. —ALEXANDER POPE, An Essay on Man

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,In blast-beruffled plume.

Only a man harrowing clodsIn a slow silent walkWith an old horse that stumbles and nodsHalf asleep as they stalk.Only thin smoke without flameFrom the heaps of couch grass:Yet this will go onward the sameThough dynasties pass.Yonder a maid and her wightCome whispering by;War's annals will cloud into nightEre their story die.

And meadow rivulets overflow,And drops on gate bars hang in a row,And rooks in families homeward go,And so do I.

The great inviolate place had an ancient permanence which the sea cannot claim. Who can say of a particular sea that it is old? Distilled by the sun, kneaded by the moon, it is renewed in a year, in a day, or in an hour. The sea changed, the fields changed, the rivers, the villages, and the people changed, yet Egdon remained.

The place became full of a watchful intentness now; for when other things sank brooding to sleep the heath appeared slowly to awake and listen.

This is the weather the shepherd shuns,And so do I.

Let me enjoy the earth no less Because the all-enacting Might Which fashioned forth its loveliness Had other aims than my delight.

I leant upon a coppice gateWhen Frost was specter-gray,And Winter's dregs made desolateThe weakening eye of day.

And as the smart ship grewIn stature, grace, and hue,In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

When I set out for Lyonnesse,A hundred miles away,The rime was on the spray,And starlight lit my lonesomeness.

Ah, no; the years, the years;Down their chiseled names the raindrop plows.