One White Flower Lay

"Three white flowers together grew,

Where the rough winds never blow,

In a pleasant place,

Hedged about with tender care,

Pure as snow and very fair,

With a gentle grace.

 

Three white flowers bent each to each,

Whispering low in airy speech,

Telling of their dreams,

Made of moonlight and of dew,

Woven of the bending blue

And the warm sunbeams."

J.D.H. Browne - Three White Flowers

MySpot: Dogwoods Blazing Bloody Red

*Ph/ Dreamboy

               

"I want to tell you how they blush and turn in fiery shame and joy,

how their love burns with flames consuming and terrible

until we wake one morning and woods are like a smoldering plain -- (...)

Earth changes to red clay

with green grass growing brightly..."

     

   

Margaret Walker - October Journey

Under Every Tree Is a Shadow

     

"He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water,

that brings forth its fruit in its season,
whose leaf also shall not wither;
and whatever he does shall prosper."

  

   

Psalm 1:3

And White Ones Become Luminous

    

"As little flowers, which the chill of night has bent and huddled,

when the white sun strikes, grow straight and open fully on their

stems, so did I, too, with my exhausted force."

     

Dante Alighieri - Inferno

At the Base of the Turreted Corner

       

"The past is still visible.

The buildings haven't changed,

the layout of the streets hasn't changed.

So memory is very available to me as I walk around."

       

Jonathan Lethem

MySpot: This Glistening Hour

*Ph of me/ Dreamboy

         

"When from the opening chambers of the east

The morning springs in thousand liveries drest,

The early larks their morning tribute pay,
And, in shrill notes, salute the blooming day."

           

James Thomson

Golden Beneath the Trees

            

"What ye have been ye still shall be,

When we are dust the dust among,

O yellow flowers!"

      

Austin Dobson

The Primrose Path

        

"Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreathes;

And 'tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes."

          

William Wordsworth - Lines Written in Early Spring