The Cornelian
No specious splendour of this stone
Endears it to my memory ever;
With lustre only once it shone,
And blushed modest as the giver.
Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties,
Have, for my weakness, oft reproved me;
Yet still the simple gift I prize,
For I am sure the giver loved me.
He offer'd it with downcast look,
As fearful that I might refuse it;
I told him, when the gift I took,
My only fear should be to lose it.
This pledge attentively I view'd,
And spakling as I held it near,
Methought one drop the stone bedew'd,
And ever since I've loved a tear.
Still, to adorn his humble youth,
Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield;
But he who seeks the flowers of truth,
Must quit the garden for the field.
'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth,
Which beauty shows, and sheds perfume;
The flowers which yield the most of both
In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom.
Had Fortune aided Nature's care,
For once forgetting to be blind,
His would have been an ample share,
If well proportion'd to his mind.
But had the goddess clearly seen,
His form had fix'd her fickle breast;
Her countless hoards would his have been,
And none remain'd to give the rest.
poem by Byron (1806)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
One That Was Not Sought
A gift is given...
Without an ego displayed,
By the giver attached.
The receiver of the gift...
Believing there to be more,
To this giving...
Than something as simple,
As that!
And...
The gift given is given back.
With sarcastic remarks...
And other unnecessary verbal attacks.
The giver of the gift,
Although offended by this...
Keeps a head straight on shoulders.
And makes only forward steps.
With a lesson learned...
And not a temper to display,
The gift giver never shows a disappointment.
Or has a thing to say.
Knowing that a wisdom,
Came as a surprise lesson taught.
From a teacher in disguise.
And from one that was not sought.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Were I Born With
Were I born with the gift of poesy I'd write of the beauty I see
The unrivalled beauty of Nature that is everywhere around me
I'd pen my songs to Mother Nature I've loved her since I was a boy
From her people are always learning and lessons from her I enjoy,
I belong to the Goddess of Nature and she is the one I adore
Each day my love for her grows greater I love her now as never before
I feel humans belong to Nature and to her we'll return one day
In the coolness of her dark earthy bosom our remains are destined to lay
So many have great love for Nature and they love her far more than I
They fight to save her trees from deevelopers and they will fight for her until the day that they die
To them she is the one true Goddess yet people like her Seasons come and go
But she is the one who lives forever and her rivers to her oceans flow
were I born with the gift of poesy of Nature I surely would write
her sights and sounds and the scents of her perfume to the senses a source of delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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She Is A Wonder Gift Of Nature
She is a wonder gift of nature
She is my idol girl
She has inner beauty
She has a clear heart
She is a wonder gift of nature
Her smile is like a Lilli in a bloom
Her glowing face is like a fresh flower
Her eyes have an attraction
She is a wonder gift of nature
I blush when I look at her
Her lips wording are like sweet cord
Her hug is only a relaxing moment in my life
Yeah she is really a wonder gift of nature
poem by Fatima Obaid
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A Bitter Truth
The life will remain the same,
You will remain the same,
They will remain the same,
The world will remain the same
With all its beauty and grandeur,
The moon will shine brilliantly,
The stars will twinkle
With all their splendour,
The nightingales will sing in the garden,
The flowers will scatter their beauty all around,
Nature will spread Her skirt for Her nurselings,
People will celebrate Eid, Diwali and, Christmas,
Their joy will know no bound,
But ah!
I will not be there
To share this joy.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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God's Gift - Nature...........
When the beautiful morning comes
The rays of rising sun kiss her
When the garden of nature open its heart
The garden of flowers hugs her to welcome
When the trees dance to tune of wind
The birds singing to the nature's choir
When the gentleness of nature is filled pleasure
Then the earth get wet with weather
When the nature forgets its vastness
Then the God shows her how big her place on earth
Let us thank God for his creation and given us
eyes to see lovely gift - Nature
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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Stanzas
WHEN fragrant gales and summer show'rs
Call'd forth the sweetly scented flow'rs;
When ripen'd sheaves of golden grain,
Strew'd their rich treasures o'er the plain;
When the full grape did nectar yield,
In tepid drops of purple hue;
When the thick grove, and thirsty field,
Drank the soft show'r and bloom'd a-new;
O then my joyful heart did say,
"Sure this is Nature's Holy-day!"
But when the yellow leaf did fade,
And every gentle flow'r decay'd;
When whistling winds, and drenching rain,
Swept with rude force the naked plain;
When o'er the desolated scene,
I saw the drifted snow descend;
And sadness darken'd all the green,
And Nature's triumphs seem'd to end;
O! then, my mourning heart did say,
"Thus Youth shall vanish, Life decay."
When Beauty blooms, and Fortune smiles,
And wealth the easy breast beguiles;
When pleasure from her downy wings,
Her soft bewitching incense flings;
THEN, Friends look kindand round the heart
The brightest flames of passion move,
False Flatt'ry's soothing strains impart
The warmest Friendshipfondest Love;
But when capricious FORTUNE flies,
Then FRIENDSHIP fades;and PASSION dies.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Lavinia
The lovely young Lavinia once had friends;
And fortune smiled deceitful on her birth:
For, in her helpless years deprived of all,
Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven,
She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old,
And poor, lived in a cottage, far retired
Among the windings of a woody vale;
By solitude and deep-surrounding shades,
But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd.
Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn
Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet
From giddy passion and low-minded pride;
Almost on Nature's common bounty fed,
Like the gay birds that sung them to repose,
Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare.
Her form was fresher than the morning rose,
When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and pure,
As is the lily or the mountain snow.
The modest virtues mingled in her eyes,
Still on the ground dejected, darting all
Their humid means into the blooming flowers;
Or when the mournful tale her mother told
Of what her faithless fortune promised once,
Thrill'd in her thought, they like the dewy star
Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace
Sat fair-proportion'd on her polish'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.
Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self,
Recluse amid the close-embowering woods:
As in the hollow breast of Apennine,
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills,
A myrtle rises, far from human eye,
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild;
So flourish'd, blooming, and unseen by all,
The sweet Lavinia.
poem by James Thomson
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Flowers
Do you not say
I’m omnipotent,
Omnipresent?
I created you,
Your family
And the nature
Around you.
Would I not be able to
Smell and see the flowers
That surround you?
Why pick them up in lots,
Pluck them off their
Lives, sew them with
Needles, and gift them
As garlands to an image
Of me: your temple deity.
What joy I get, tell me?
If I see my creations
Being ravaged by man’s
Ruthless hands. Like you,
They would love to live
A carefree life of freedom
And sunshine.
Why smother them
Prematurely, wither them
With your plucking fingers?
Don’t crush them to offer me
Pushpanjali.
Let them breathe in the
Breeze of the garden
Where they belong…
Let the bees savour their nectar.
Do not give me bouquets
Of dying flowers…
I’m just as happy
To see them
Blossom :)
In the branches of
The swinging trees.
Why make them bare and barren?
They look so naked without their
Adornments – the beautiful flowers
That drape them in beauty…
Listen to me, my dear devotee.
You happen to see me everywhere,
Don’t you?
You talk of my omnipresence,
So why don’t you see
That I don’t need
Flowers from thee
To please me.
They are there for nature to show us
How flowers look beautiful in their
Natural beauty…don’t pluck, please.
Won’t you heed me?
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: LXXXV
THE SAME CONTINUED
These flowers shall be my offering, living flowers
Which here shall die with you in sacrifice,
Flowers from the empty fields which once were yours
And now are mine. No gold, nor myrrh, nor spice,
Nor any dead man's offering may suffice.
I love not flowers: but thus to deck a grave
Which has no need of things of greater price.
Life is the only tribute death would have.
--Ah, thou art dead. Mine is this fair domain
With all its living beauty and brave shows
Of lawn, and lake, and garden; mine the increase
Of the year's harvest, the slow growth of trees,
And that fair natural wealth we loved in vain,
Flowers, which shall never more adorn my house.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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To John Forbes, Esq.
ON HIS BRINGING ME FLOWERS FROM VAUCLUSE, AND
WHICH HE HAD PRESERVED BY MEANS OF
AN INGENIOUS PROCESS IN THEIR
ORIGINAL BEAUTY.
SWEET spoils of consecrated bowers,
How dear to me these chosen flowers!
I love the simplest bud that blows,
I love the meanest weed that grows:
Symbols of nature--every form
That speaks of her this heart can warm;
But ye, delicious flowers, assume
In fancy's eye a brighter bloom;
A dearer pleasure ye diffuse,
Cull'd by the fountain of Vaucluse!
For ye were nurtur'd on the sod
Where PETRARCH mourn'd, and LAURA trod;
Ye grew on that inspiring ground
Where love has shed enchantment round;
Where still the tear of passion flows,
Fond tribute to a poet's woes!
Yet, cherish'd flowers, with love and fame
This wreath entwines a milder name;
Friendship, who better knows than they
The spells that smooth our length'ning way,--
Friendship the blooming off'ring brought;
When FORBES the classic fountain sought,
For me he cull'd the fresh-blown flowers,
And fix'd their hues with potent powers;
Their pliant forms with skilful care
He seized, and stamp'd duration there;
His gift shall ever glad the eye,--
Nor, like my verse is born to die.
poem by Helen Maria Williams
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The Beauty Of Nature The Poets Inspire
Were I a poet I'd write of Nature's beauty around me
The songs of the birds on bush, hedge and tree
The flowers of the garden so lovely to see
The beauty of Nature to look at is free.
The babble of the waterways the brook, creek and rill
That flow to the river downland from the hill
That flows to the coast all the way to the sea
One of Nature's Goddess wonders none as great as she.
Of singing her praises could one ever tire
The beauty of Nature the poets inspire
To pen their poems to her of her praises they do sing
The beauty of Nature outlives her every Spring.
And though all of her life forms to life come and go
Goddess of Nature whose secrets anybody does not know
Will live on forever she will never die
Unlike all other mortals such as you and I.
poem by Francis Duggan
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You Great Goddess Of Nature
You great Goddess of Nature I see the beauty you create every day
In saying you are the only God I know of I do mean what I say
'Tis said that you and Mother Nature are one and of the same
Goddess of Nature or Mother Nature you go by either name
The beauty that you create is for all to enjoy
I have loved the beauty you create ever since I was a boy
If others have their own Gods well that's okay with me
Each to their own belief as some do say for that's how it ought to be
You great Goddess of Nature of you little I know
Your great and ancient waterways to your huge oceans flow
The Goddess of the Seasons the creator supreme
You do not have an equal that's how to me 'twould seem
You great Goddess of Nature though to you I never pray
My love for you grows stronger with every passing day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lines Written in 1799.
Hail to thy pencil! well its glowing art
Has traced those features painted on my heart;
Now, though in distant scenes she soon will rove,
Still here I behold the friend I love--
Still see that smile, "endearing, artless, kind,"
The eye's mild beam that speaks the candid mind,
Which, sportive oft, yet fearful to offend,
By humour charms, but never wounds a friend.
But in my breast contending feelings rise,
While this loved semblance fascinates my eyes;
Now, pleased I mark the painter's skilful line,
And now, rejoice the skill I mark is thine:
And while I prize the gift by thee bestow'd,
My heart proclaims, I'm of the giver proud.
Thus pride and friendship war with equal strife,
And now the friend exults, and now the wife.
poem by Amelia Opie
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The Perfume And Colour Of Flower, Is Already In The Plant!
The flower blooms on that Plant,
Enchanting beauty and colour of
flower,
Perfume and colours were in the
flowering plants,
The perfume spreads, colours shine,
When every heart bloom on
maturity of love and wisdom!
The fragrance of flowers allready
bloomed-gives not only
courage, but also hope and faith
in nature's laws and Nature's plans!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Giver
the burnt fringe of the cloth
that covers his face;
a lion roars in the dark,
the child kneels and prays.
he laid stone upon stone
till it touched the sky;
the history of a man
who lived but to die!
when all becomes nothing,
nothing left behind;
but the gift of the giver,
and a satisfied mind.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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To The Baron De Humboldt,
ON HIS BRINGING ME SOME FLOWERS IN MARCH.
SOOTH'D I receive the flowers you bring,
Whose charm anticipates the Spring;
Whose tints in vernal freshness vie
With plants beneath an austral sky,--
Those glowing plants that, long unknown,
Your travell'd science made our own:--
Bright gift! in lavish grace array'd,
Thy flowers have only bloom'd to fade,--
Their transient being soon forgot:
How far unlike the giver's lot!
poem by Helen Maria Williams
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With The Wonders Of Nature
With the wonders of Nature nothing to compare
And the Goddess of Nature she lives everywhere
And the secrets of Nature not for humans to know
At the magic of Nature our wonder does grow.
The beauty of Nature is for all to see
It is all around you and it is all around me
The cold winds of Winter blow up from the sea
But how lovely the pink flowers bloom on the camellia tree.
The music of Nature an amazing thing
On trees and on bushes the birds chirp and sing
I feel that to Nature us humans too belong
Though in saying that some may say I have got it wrong.
The beauty of Nature I see every day
And I marvel at her is all I can say
The passing of her Seasons have left me looking gray
And in her dark earthy bosom my remains will lay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Sleep Of Spring
O for that sweet, untroubled rest
That poets oft have sung!--
The babe upon its mother's breast,
The bird upon its young,
The heart asleep without a pain--
When shall I know that sleep again?
When shall I be as I have been
Upon my mother's breast
Sweet Nature's garb of verdant green
To woo to perfect rest--
Love in the meadow, field, and glen,
And in my native wilds again?
The sheep within the fallow field,
The herd upon the green,
The larks that in the thistle shield,
And pipe from morn to e'en--
O for the pasture, fields, and fen!
When shall I see such rest again?
I love the weeds along the fen,
More sweet than garden flowers,
For freedom haunts the humble glen
That blest my happiest hours.
Here prison injures health and me:
I love sweet freedom and the free.
The crows upon the swelling hills,
The cows upon the lea,
Sheep feeding by the pasture rills,
Are ever dear to me,
Because sweet freedom is their mate,
While I am lone and desolate.
I loved the winds when I was young,
When life was dear to me;
I loved the song which Nature sung,
Endearing liberty;
I loved the wood, the vale, the stream,
For there my boyhood used to dream.
There even toil itself was play;
Twas pleasure een to weep;
Twas joy to think of dreams by day,
The beautiful of sleep.
When shall I see the wood and plain,
And dream those happy dreams again?
poem by John Clare
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The Birth of Spring
The Birth of Spring
By: Adam M. Snow
A birth of Spring brings flowers bloom,
A beauty that reigns from nature's womb;
Bringing forth a new day of yore;
A beauty that reigns forevermore.
Heaving the life of nature to nature,
As the world within matures.
The flowers blooms ever so gracefully,
A Spring sunshine O' so blissfully.
The life of Spring so frail and gentle,
Like a rose or that of lentil.
It is evermore so sweet to wonder,
The scent of Spring would sunder.
And by the night, the stars glisten be,
Spring at it's glory, a song decrees.
A melody so sweet and peaceful to be heard;
The calming voice of nature's word,
That glistens the wind and flowers alike,
Flowing 'gainst the wind like a shrike.
She dance with a melody,
Like a wild felidae;
The petals of roses flows the wind.
I stand here in awe of nature's friend.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Summer Solstice....the longest day a thousand x's
Sarson blue pagan stone, stand sentential
As reverence
To mankind
Who feared all that was mystical
The rise of....
Life giver
Sol
Lifted wings of raven
Vibrated, moved was hushed
For a moments silence....
As the grass by subtle sun.... brushed
Sun crept over
(Heel stone)
Glorious rays teased
Air crisp
Breaths weaved through verde plane
As thoughts of harvest and gift of child
Recalled their spirits again
Hoofed beast were led unwittingly
To spread
Red
And douse blue stone
And though many stood in fear and hope
Each man
Did praise
Alone
Stonehenge the chapel to a most desirous she
My Lady Mother Nature
I praise you
Joyously
poem by Karen Sinclair
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