Quotes About Nature

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.

There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.

I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, That must have been the sun!

A power of Butterfly must be - The Aptitude to fly Meadows of Majesty concedes And easy Sweeps of Sky -

November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.

I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.

How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!

I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious

Inebriate of Air — am I — And Debauchee of Dew — Reeling — thro endless summer days — From Inns of Molten Blue —

To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—

The only Commandment I ever obeyed — 'Consider the Lilies.

Some keep the Sabbath going to church, I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome.

I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.

Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a Diver - Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest, Her heart is fit for home- I- a Sparrow- build there Sweet of twigs and twine My perennial nest.

You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.

The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.

I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me

Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.

MY river runs to thee: Blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply. Oh sea, look graciously! I 'll fetch thee brooks From spotted nooks,— Say, sea, Take me!

But it is growing damp and I must go in. Memory's fog is rising.

Earth is crammed with Heaven.

Nature is what we know / Yet have not art to say / So impotent our wisdom is / To her simplicity.

This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,-- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty. Her message is committed To hands I cannot see; For love of her, sweet countrymen, Judge tenderly of me!

Forgive me if I never visit. I am from the fields, you know, and while quite at home with the dandelions, make a sorry figure in a drawing room.