Quotes About Nature

My sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall that sends the frozen ground swell under it.

Who would you be, I wonder, by those marks If I had moths to friend as I have flowers?

I Boschi sono amabili ombrosi e profondi. Ma ho promesse da mantenere, e miglia da percorrere prima di riposare, e miglia da percorrere prima di riposare.

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same...

Nothing gold can stay.

But all We did that day was mingle great and small Footprints in summer dust as if we drew The figure of our being less than two But more than one as yet.

A saturated meadow, Sun-shaped and jewel-small

So dawn goes down to day/ nothing gold can stay.

All nature seems to weave a circle of / Enchantment round the mind, and give full sway / To flitting thoughts and dreams of bygone years.

The mountain pushed us off her knees. And now her lap is full of trees.

Spring is the mischief in me

Come, be my love in the wet woods, come, Where the boughs rain when it blows.

THE PASTURE I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I sha'n't be gone long. – You come too. I'm going out to fetch the little calf That's standing by the mother. It's so young, It totters when she licks it with her tongue. I sha'n't be gone long. – You come too.

And on the worn book of old-golden I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold And freshen in this air of withering sweetness;

The flowers of the witch hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question 'Whither?' Ah, when tot the heart of man Was it ever less than a teason to go with the drift of things, to yield with a grace to reason, and bow and accept and accept the end of a love or a season?

Life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open.

A Time to Talk - 1874-1963 When a friend calls to me from the road And slows his horse to a meaning walk, I don't stand still and look around On all the hills I haven't hoed, And shout from where I am, What is it? No, not as there is a time to talk. I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground, Blade-end up and five feet tall, And plod: I go up to the stone wall For a friendly visit.

There I elected to demur Beneath a low-slung juniper That like a blanket to my chin Kept some dew out and some heat in, Yet left me freely face to face All night with universal space.

I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue 15 Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.

This country is a very broad pan to be only human-nature deep.

Nature's first green is gold

Robert Frost

So dawn goes to day Nothing gold can stay