Quotes About Nature

I found Him in the shining of the stars,I mark'd Him in the flowering of His fields,But in His ways with men I find Him not.

Come into the garden, Maud,For the black bat, night, has flown,Come into the garden, Maud,I am here at the gate alone.

All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.

Sweet and low, sweet and low,Wind of the western sea,Low, low, breathe and blow,Wind of the western sea!Over the rolling waters go,Come from the dying moon, and blow,Blow him again to me;While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

She is coming, my own, my sweet;Were it ever so airy a tread,My heart would hear her and beat,Were it earth in an earthy bed;My dust would hear her and beat,Had I lain for a century dead;Would start and tremble under her feet,And blossom in purple and red.

I sometimes hold it half a sinTo put in words the grief I feel;For words, like Nature, half revealAnd half conceal the Soul within.

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky!

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;Tomorrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New Year;Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day;For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

Here at the quiet limit of the world.

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;Close to the sun in lonely lands,Ring'd with the azure world he stands.The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;He watches from his mountain walls,And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on for ever.

Speech is human nature itself, with none of the artificiality of written language.

If a dog jumps into your lap, it is because he is fond of you; but if a cat does the same thing, it is because your lap is warmer.

Nature gets credit which should in truth be reserved for ourselves: the rose for its scent, the nightingale for its song; and the sun for its radiance. The poets are entirely mistaken. They should address their lyrics to themselves and should turn them into odes of self congratulation on the excellence of the human mind.

Nature is probably quite indifferent to the aesthetic preferences of mathematicians.

It is a false dichotomy to think of Nature and Man. Mankind is a factor in Nature which exhibits in its most intense form the plasticity of Nature.

The mountain endures. But when after ages it has worn away, it has gone. If a replica arises, it is yet a new mountain. A colour is eternal. It haunts time like a spirit. It comes and it goes. But where it comes, it is the same colour. It neither survives nor does it live.

A duration is a concrete slab of nature limited by simultaneity which is an essential factor disclosed in sense-awareness.

Thus nature gets credit which should in truth be reserved for ourselves: the rose for its scent: the nightingale for his song: the sun for its radiance. The poets are entirely mistaken. They should address their lyrics to themselves, and should turn them into odes of self-congratulation on the excellency of the human mind. Nature is a dull affair, soundless, scentless, colourless...

Bring the buds of the hazel-copse, Where two lovers kissed at noon; Bring the crushed red wild-thyme tops Where they murmured under the moon....

Go by, go by, with all your din, Your dust, your greed, your guile, Your pomp, your gold; you cannot win From her one smile.... Outlawed? Then hills and glens and streams Are outlawed, too. Proud world, from our immortal dreams, We banish you.

love lies hidden in every rose...