A Quote by William Wordsworth

Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises. — © William Wordsworth
Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
O how beautiful is morning! How the sunbeams strike the daisies And the kingcups fill the meadow Like a golden-shielded army Marching to the uplands fair.
A silence reigns upon the air, Upon the pansies by the shore, Upon the violets, pale and fair, Upon the willow, bending o'er; The reeds and lilies silent grow, The dark green waters silent sleep, Save when the summer breezes blow, Or silvery minnows leap.
Had she never been hungry enough to eat a flower? Did she not know that you could eat daisies, daylilies, pansies, and marigolds? That hungry enough, a person could consume the bright faces of violas, even the stems of dandelions and the bitter hips of roses?
I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow.
Daisies in water are the longest lasting flower you can give to someone. Fact. Buy daisies. Not roses.
The fire has its flame and praises God. The wind blows the flame and praises God. In the voice we hear the word which praises God. And the word, when heard, praises God. So all of creation is a song of praise to God.
And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
When you use the language of 'fact checking' to talk about a film, I think you're sort of fundamentally misunderstanding how art works. You don't fact check Monet's 'Water Lilies.' That's not what water lilies look like; that's what the sensation of experiencing water lilies feel like. That's the goal of the piece.
I will sing their praises, I'll sing Donald's [Trump] praises and Marco's [Rubio] praises and everybody else's praises. But I'm going to keep the focus on substance and records. And there's a reason why they scream "Liar." Because when you point to their own records, their own voting records, their own words, they don't like their records because their records are inconsistent with what they're running on.
Carve not upon a stone when I am dead, The praises which remorseful mourners give; To women's graves - a tardy recompense, But speak them while I live.
If I had to live on record sales, I'd be pushing up the daisies.
If I had my life to live over, I'd pick more daisies.
You may wear your virtues as a crown, As you walk through life serenely, And grace your simple rustic gown With a beauty more than queenly. Though only one for you shall care, One only speak your praises; And you never wear in your shining hair, A richer flower than daisies.
Buttercups and daisies, Oh, the pretty flowers; Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours. When the trees are leafless; When the fields are bare; Buttercups and daisies Spring up here and there.
No one praises happiness as one praises justice, but we call it a 'blessing,' deeming it something higher and more divine than things we praise.
They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.
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