Related quotes: I PLUCKED the blossoms of...

The Tree Of Knowledge

I PLUCKED the blossoms of delight
In many a wood and many a field,
I made a garland fair and bright
As any gardens yield.

But when I sought the living tree
To make new earth and Heaven new,
I found--alas for you and me--
Its roots were set in you.

Oh, dear my garden, where the fruit
Of lovely knowledge sweetly springs,
How jealously you guard the root
Of all enlightening things!

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

On Tree

Just a plain old TREE. I Ignored the weather
satisfied with me. I Looked at TREE.

What if anything do I knoe about TREE.
It used to be a thing made out of wood, always tall,

with branches near the ground. Roots fingering the ground.
Life comes up somehow to TREE. Water cascades down to ground, seeping slowly into ROOT. ROOT transmogrifies

the water into inner sanctum stuff known only to the Lord.
People still tell me, Tree just cannot live.

There is no real feeling in TREE.
There is knowledge in TREE or it would be a blade of grass.

People say the life is in the seed or sapiling.
I think the knowledge is in the MAN, the ONE who can.

He Makes all the TREE begin, upon a distant planet,
Creates the thing again, in the courtyard of his KING.

And every meadow of his earth.
The ONE who gave me birthe the second time around.

The ONE who gave me TREE.
And Time to write this down.

poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Custard Apple

It hung so near the trunk of the tree,
And stayed unnoticed for a long time,
Hidden by a leafy canopy,
And growing bigger than most others!

It was not scorched by the noon-time sun,
Nor wetted by the lashing rains,
Or shaken by the winds that howl,
But was over-fed in mother's way!

I plucked it off lest someone stole
Or wood-peckers come make a hole,
And parrots beak it up like nuts,
Leaving its empty rind hanging!

I wrapped the fruit in a plastic bag,
And thought it would ripen very soon;
Alas! The fruit never ripened at all,
Remaining green and looking fresh!

It was as hard as granite stone;
It did not dry or change color;
It stayed that way when kept outside,
But never ripened any day!

I pondered what could have happened
Preventing the fruit from ripening;
‘There is a time for everything,
And when a fruit ripens! ' - says the Bible.

Yet, human beings find new ways
Of doing things unnaturally;
Nevertheless, they hardly win;
But Mother Nature does better!

Man's knowledge and experience fails
In every field and every sphere;
The Nature, God created stays
Unraveled, unrivaled winner always.

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Plucked A Rose From A Garden Green......

By Murtaza Abt

I plucked a rose from a garden green,
Of beauty never felt or seen,
Hoping that it would never wilt,
And always be as always been.

I plucked a rose from a garden green,
with a happy blissful heart,
And promised i would hold it tight,
And never would we part.

I plucked a rose from a garden green,
But little did i know,
That not in endless love and care,
But gardens do they grow.

I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And took it home with me,
But little did it stay the way,
The way t'was meant to be.

I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And it began to grieve,
Over gardens green and meadows lush,
As it was sad to leave.

I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And it began to wilt,
And wither in that unknown land,
it filled my heart with guilt.

I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And it began to die,
For happiness i had only asked,
But i began to cry.

....................................

I have p L ucked y O u from a garden green,
Your beauty i VE never felt or seen,
Hoping that YOU will never wilt,
And always be as always been.

09/Nov/09

poem by Murtaza Abt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Chaplet

A little girl through field and wood
Went plucking flowerets here and there,
When suddenly beside her stood
A lady wondrous fair!

The lovely lady smiled, and laid
A wreath upon the maiden's brow;
'Wear it, 'twill blossom soon,' she said,
'Although 'tis leafless now.'

The little maiden older grew
And wandered forth of moonlight eves,
And sighed and loved as maids will do;
When, lo! her wreath bore leaves.

Then was our maid a wife, and hung
Upon a joyful bridegroom's bosom;
When from the garland's leaves there sprung
Fair store of blossom.

And presently a baby fair
Upon her gentle breast she reared;
When midst the wreath that bound her hair
Rich golden fruit appeared.

But when her love lay cold in death,
Sunk in the black and silent tomb,
All sere and withered was the wreath
That wont so bright to bloom.

Yet still the withered wreath she wore;
She wore it at her dying hour;
When, to the wondrous garland bore
Both leaf, and fruit, and flower!

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Our Marriage Is Our Garden

Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Wood Handled Shovel

I take its smooth wood in my hands
to turn the earth as spring returns.
I make straight furrows in my garden
Like those before me worked the land.

This was Dad's shovel years ago
And in my father's callused hands
it coaxed our plot to yield us fruit
as good as any farmer's stand.

Outside of faded photographs
So few of father's things remain
His house torn down, his stuff dispersed.
his kingdom shrunken to a grave.

Of all the things that I possess
this little shovel made of wood
is my link to Him I loved
and to a time when life was good.

J.M.

poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Blasted Fig-Tree

One aweful word which Jesus spoke,
Against the tree which bore no fruit;
More piercing than the lightning's stroke,
Blasted and dried it to the root.

But could a tree the Lord offend,
To make him show his anger thus?
He surely had a farther end,
To be a warning word to us.

The fig-tree by its leaves was known,
But having not a fig to show;
It brought a heavy sentence down,
Let none hereafter on thee grow.

Too many, who the gospel hear,
Whom Satan blinds and sin deceives;
We to this fig-tree may compare,
They yield no fruit, but only leaves.

Knowledge, and zeal, and gifts, and talk,
Unless combined with faith and love,
And witnessed by a gospel walk,
Will not a true profession prove.

Without the fruit the Lord expects
Knowledge will make our state the worse;
The barren trees he still rejects,
And soon will blast them with his curse.

O Lord, unite our hearts in prayer!
On each of us thy Spirit send;
That we the fruits of grace may bear,
And find acceptance in the end.

poem by John Newton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Venus in the Garden

'Twas at early morning,
The dawn was blushing in her purple bed,
When in a sweet, embowered garden
She, the fairest of the goddesses,
The lovely Venus,
Roamed amongst the roses white and red.
She sought for flowers
To make a garland
For her golden head.

Snow-white roses, blood-red roses,
In that sweet garden close,
Offered incense to the goddess:
Both the white and the crimson rose.

White roses, red roses, blossoming:
But the fair Venus knew
The crimson roses had gained their hue
From the hearts that for love had bled;
And the goddess made a garland
Gathered from the roses red.

poem by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Barnfloor and Winepress

And he said, If the Lord do not help thee, whence shall I help thee? out of the barnfloor, or out of the winepress?
2 Kings VI: 27

Thou that on sin's wages starvest,
Behold we have the joy in harvest:
For us was gather'd the first fruits,
For us was lifted from the roots,
Sheaved in cruel bands, bruised sore,
Scourged upon the threshing-floor;
Where the upper mill-stone roof'd His head,
At morn we found the heavenly Bread,
And, on a thousand altars laid,
Christ our Sacrifice is made!

Thou whose dry plot for moisture gapes,
We shout with them that tread the grapes:
For us the Vine was fenced with thorn,
Five ways the precious branches torn;
Terrible fruit was on the tree
In the acre of Gethsemane;
For us by Calvary's distress
The wine was racked from the press;
Now in our altar-vessels stored
Is the sweet Vintage of our Lord.

In Joseph's garden they threw by
The riv'n Vine, leafless, lifeless, dry:
On Easter morn the Tree was forth,
In forty days reach'd heaven from earth;
Soon the whole world is overspread;
Ye weary, come into the shade.

The field where He has planted us
Shall shake her fruit as Libanus,
When He has sheaved us in His sheaf,
When He has made us bear his leaf. -
We scarcely call that banquet food,
But even our Saviour's and our blood,
We are so grafted on His wood.

poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A New leaf

There’s a new leaf upon the Tree
A thousand, thousand have been before
In the life of this great tree
Yet, the Tree rejoices, and is glad
For there is a New Leaf upon the tree

The roots are deep, and hidden
Tis one tree from root to branch
And lives in and through each leaf
The hearts’ smile resurrected
Through the New leaf upon the tree

Like the stars of heaven
New leaves have been many
And so they all are One
For they all share the same root
Bless the New leaf upon the tree

Perfection in the Blessing
Joy released in tears of love
The strength in life will comfort
From root to God above
A New leaf upon the tree

Beauty, Truth, and life
Complete from root to branch
When life’s cycle turns
Leaves fall to nourish roots
And behold, a New leaf upon the tree

poem by Adrian Wait
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Nonpareil

Let others from the Town retire,
And in the fields seek new delight;
My Phillis does such joys inspire,
No other objects please my sight.

In her alone I find whate'er
Beauties a country landscape grace;
No shade so lovely as her hair,
Nor plain so sweet as is her face.

Lilies and roses there combine,
More beauteous than in flowery field;
Transparent is her skin so fine,
To this each crystal stream must yield.

Her voice more sweet than warbling sound,
Though sung by nightingale or lark;
Her eyes such lustre dart around,
Compared to them the sun is dark.

Both light and vital heat they give,
Cherish'd by them my love takes root;
From her kind looks does life receive,
Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit.

Such fruit I ween did once deceive
The common parent of mankind,
And made transgress our mother Eve,
Poison its core, though fair its rind.

Yet so delicious is its taste,
I cannot from the bait abstain,
But to th' enchanting pleasure haste,
Though I were sure 'twould end in pain.

poem by Matthew Prior
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Change In The Weather

Sunshine and Roses they make us smile-
As do the soft Springs blossoming trees-
Bringing us total delight-ever so bright...
Happiness can be found in Springs most glorious breeze;

Effervescent are the brooks waters in the glen-
As the BumbleBees pollinate the blooms...
Alas, Springs clouds oft' bring thunder so loud...
And grayer days that just loom with gloom;

But ne'er do these days last for long-
As the Sunshine and Roses return...
Refreshed with soft air-and days so fair...
Leaving no room for a days weather concern;

poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Don’t be an uprooted Tree

Seed is sown and the embryo is formed
Legitimate or not, radicle develops into root
Root penetrates into the surface of the soil
Absorbs water and food, turns seed into plant
Inherits the culture of the earth beneath.
It’s in root science that, it moves in
Right direction to fetch the exact need.

Stem gives the support and balance to stand
Branches form the vitality of the plant
Leaves prepare the food to survive
Bearing even odds the plant grows into tree.
As long as deep roots embraces mother earth
The tree shows confidence and attracts.
Location and depth are the might of the tree

Flower, fruit, shade, firm soil, H2O and CO2
Vary from tree to tree, but all owe to root
Never there is an existence beyond this means.
Still human trees surrender under the pressures
Try to get uprooted from the surface and means
Hoping for better flower, fruit, soil and breeze
Truth is, an uprooted tree, a timber, put to ablaze.

-vidi-
22-04-08

poem by Vidi Writes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Helmsman

O be swift—
we have always known you wanted us.

We fled inland with our flocks.
we pastured them in hollows,
cut off from the wind
and the salt track of the marsh.

We worshipped inland—
we stepped past wood-flowers,
we forgot your tang,
we brushed wood-grass.

We wandered from pine-hills
through oak and scrub-oak tangles,
we broke hyssop and bramble,
we caught flower and new bramble-fruit
in our hair: we laughed
as each branch whipped back,
we tore our feet in half-buried rocks
and knotted roots and acorn-cups.

We forgot—we worshipped,
we parted green from green,
we sought further thickets,
we dipped our ankles
through leaf-mould and earth,
and wood and wood-bank enchanted us—

and the feel of the clefts in the bark,
and the slope between tree and tree—
and a slender path strung field to field
and wood to wood
and hill to hill
and the forest after it.

We forgot—for a moment
tree-resin, tree-bark,
sweat of a torn branch
were sweet to taste.

We were enchanted with the fields,
the tufts of coarse grass—
in the shorter grass—
we loved all this.

But now, our boat climbs—hesitates—drops—
climbs—hesitates—crawls back—
climbs—hesitates—
O, be swift—
we have always known you wanted us.

poem by Hilda Doolittle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Hearts First Word. II

And all her soft dark hair
Breathed for him like a prayer,
And her white lost face
Was prisoned to sonie far place.
Love was not denied-
Love's ends would hide,
And Hower and fruit and tree
Were under its sea.
Yea, its abundance knelt
Where the nerves felt
The springs of feeling flow
And made pain grow !
There seemed no root or sky,
But a pent infinity
Where apparitions dim
Sculptured each whim
In dame and wandering mist
Of kisses to be kist.

LADY, YOU ARE MY GOD

Lady, you are my God-
Lady, you are my Heaven.

If I am your God
Labour for your Heaven.

Lady, you are my God,
And shall not love win Heaven ?

If love made me God
Deeds must win my Heaven.

If my love made you God,
What more can 1 for Heaven ?

poem by Isaac Rosenberg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Thank God for Little Children

Thank God for little children,
Bright flowers by earth's wayside,
The dancing, joyous lifeboats
Upon life's stormy tide.

Thank God for little children;
When our skies are cold and gray,
They come as sunshine to our hearts,
And charm our cares away.

I almost think the angels,
Who tend life's garden fair,
Drop down the sweet wild blossoms
That bloom around us here.

It seems a breath of heaven
Round many a cradle lies,
And every little baby
Brings a message from the skies.

Dear mothers, guard these jewels.
As sacred offerings meet,
A wealth of household treasures
To lay at Jesus' feet.

poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet 82: Nymph Of The Garden

Nymph of the garden where all beauties be,
Beauties which do in excellency pass
His who till death look'd in a wat'ry glass,
Or hers, whom naked the Trojan boy did see;

Sweet garden nymph, which keeps the cherry tree
Whose fruit doth far th'Hesperian taste surpass;
Most sweet-fair, most fair-sweet, do not alas,
From coming near those cherries banish me:

For though full of desire, empty of wit,
Admitted late by your best-graced Grace,
I caught at one of them a hungry bit,

Pardon that fault. Once more grant me the place
And I do swear e'en by the same delight,
I will but kiss, I never more will bite.

poem by Philip Sidney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Divine Tree

In my mind I see perched upon a rocky hill
Standing firm a silhouetted tree so strong and still
Its roots extend well below the turf
Reaching deep to the centre of the earth
Its sprawling branches stretch in a canopy above
High into the sky to heaven where there’s much love
This tree is magical and a symbol for us to see
As it bears fruit, good things given by divinity
Of love compassion, peace and self awareness
To visualise the tree is a privilege I confess
But all can see if they search enough
Even though the mist at times make viability tough
The wind of your thought in its branches whisper through
And brings forth its fruit for those that stay true
And if sometimes when you try to climb to its branches on high
When life seems touch and you really have to try
The branch it may break and then you may fall
But the tree will still stand it stays there for us all
And then you must try once again you see
Each time you get further higher in the great tree
And each time you make a higher ascent
You get higher into its canopy to Heaven sent

poem by Micron
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Way Of The Wood

WHERE baby oaks play in the breeze
Among wood-sorrel and fringed fern,
Through the green garments of the trees
The quivering shafts of sunlight burn,

And all along the wet green ride
The dripping hazel-boughs between,
The spotted orchis, stiff with pride,
Stands guard before the eglantine.

Sweet chestnuts droop their long, sharp leaves
By knotted tree roots, mossed and brown,
Round which the honeysuckle weaves
Its scented golden wild-wood crown.

O wood, last year you saw us meet,
For her your leaves and buds were gay,
Your moss spread velvet for her feet.
Your flowers upon her bosom lay.

This year you wear your raiment bright,
As fair as ever yet you wore.
And, none the less, the world's delight
Walks in your ways no more, no more.