Friendship

‎"Who knows the joys of friendship,
The trust, security, and mutual tenderness,
The double joys, where each is glad for both." 


-Nicholas Rowe

Friendship

‎"When true friends meet in adverse hour,
'Tis like a sunbeam through a shower;
A watery ray an instant seen,
The darkly closing clouds between." 


-Sir Walter Scott

The caption underneath read:

"i found this old newspaper clipping in a poetry book that i got at a flea market, i also found a daisy and a love letter"

My Tumblr

Snowdrops - Mary Vivien

Snowdrops

I like to think

      That, long ago,

     There fell to earth

               Some flakes of snow

           Which loved this cold, 

            Grey world of ours

          So much, they stayed

                As snowdrop flowers.

                                                                                                                            Mary Vivien   

I'd Choose to be a Daisy

I'd Choose to be a Daisy

I'd choose to be a daisy,

If I might be a flower;

Closing my petals softly

At twilight's quiet hour;

And waking in the morning,

When falls the early dew,

To welcome Heaven's bright sunshine,

And Heaven's bright tear-drops too.

I'd choose to be a skylark,

If I might be a bird;

My song should be the loudest

The sun has ever heard;

I'd wander through the cloudland,

Far, far above the moon,

And reach right up to heaven,

Where it is always noon.

And yet I think I'd rather

Be changed into a lamb,

And in the fields spend pleasant days

A-playing by my dam.

But then, you see, I cannot be

A flower, or bird or lamb.

And why? Because I'm made to be

The little child I am!

To Autumn - John Keats. 1795–1821

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,	5
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,	10
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;	15
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;	20
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day,	25
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;	30
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

— William Morris (The Well at the World's End: volume I)

"With the arrogance of youth, I determined to do no less than to transform the world with Beauty. If I have succeeded in some small way, if only in one small corner of the world, amongst the men and women I love, then I shall count myself blessed, and blessed, and blessed, and the work goes on."