A Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
How cunningly nature hides every wrinkle of her inconceivable antiquity under roses and violets and morning dew!
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Nature is sanative, refining, elevating. How cunningly she hides every wrinkle of her inconceivable antiquity under roses, and violets, and morning dew! Every inch of the mountains is scarred by unimaginable convulsions, yet the new day is purple with the bloom of youth and love.
Imagine a multidimensiona l spider's web in the early morning covered with dew drops. And every dew drop contains the reflection of all the other dew drops. And, in each reflected dew drop, the reflections of all the other dew drops in that reflection. And so ad infinitum. That is the Buddhist conception of the universe in an image.
I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew.
Her lips are roses over-washed with dew, Or like the purple of Narcissus' flower; No frost their fair, no wind doth waste their power, But by her breath her beauties to renew.
Say she rail; why, I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, and say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
Two roses on one slender spray In sweet communion grew, Together hailed the morning ray And drank the evening dew.
The Best Things In Life Are Free Sunshine, songs of birds, the blue heavens, sunrise, the sea air, the field full of flowers, the wonders of nature, the magenta sunset, love, joy, peace of mind, the wonders of nature, the warm rain, the dew of the roses, the love of God, etc., are here for our enjoyment.
Roses are reddish
Violets are bluish
If it weren't for Christmas
We'd all be Jewish.
Roses are red, violets are blue, so are my balls thanks to you.
Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm schizophrenic, and so am I.
Nature hides her secrets because of her essential loftiness, but not by means of ruse.
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
I'm sick of this poem,
you probably are too.
Roses are red Violets are blue Everything's possible Nothing is true.
She bathed with roses red,
And violets blew.
And all the sweetest flowres
That in the forrest grew.
I thought as I rode in the cold pleasant light of Sunday morning how silent & passive nature offers, every morn, her wealth to man; she is immensely rich, he is welcome to her entire goods, which he speaks no word, only leaves over doors ajar, hall, store room, & cellar. He may do as he will: if he takes her hint & uses her goods, she speaks no word; if he blunders & starves, she says nothing.
The Holy Scriptures praise the dew of the morning and the dew of the evening; ros matutinum, ros serotinum! Happy is he who possesses the gift of tears! when young, he will bear flowers; when old, fruit!
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