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"THE MOON was but a chin of gold A night or two ago, And now she turns her perfect face Upon the world below. Her forehead is of amplest blond; Her cheek like beryl stone; Her eye unto the summer dew The likest I have known. Her lips of amber never part; But what must be the smileUpon her friend she could bestow Were such her silver will! And what a privilege to be But the remotest star! For certainly her way might pass Beside your twinkling door. Her bonnet is the firmament, The universe her shoe, The stars the trinkets at her belt, Her dimities of blue."
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Exlpore more Nature quotes
"Take a giant drink of natures endless stream let it spout from your mouth in words so serene."
"Creatures, I give you yourselves," said the strong, happy voice of Aslan. "I give to you forever this land of Narnia. I give you the woods, the fruits, the rivers. I give you the stars and I give you myself. The Dumb Beasts whom I have not chosen are yours also. Treat them gently and cherish them but do not go back to their ways lest you cease to be Talking Beasts. For out of them you were taken and into them you can return. Do not so."
"He does not despise real woods because he has read of enchanted woods, the reading makes all real woods a little enchanted."
"A vacuum is a hell of a lot better than some of the stuff that nature replaces it with."
"If men could fit water into their pockets, the ocean would be empty."
"Flowers are the beautiful hairs of the Mother Spring! Don't pluck them!"
"Not just beautiful, though--the stars are like the trees in the forest, alive and breathing. And they're watching me."
"There is not a sprig of grass that shoots uninteresting to me."
Explore more quotes by Emily Dickinson
"How happy is the little stoneThat rambles in the road alone,And doesn't care about careers,And exigencies never fears;Whose coat of elemental brownA passing universe put on;And independent as the sun,Associates or glows alone,Fulfilling absolute decreeIn casual simplicity."
"Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode until we drive away."
"A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day."
"I had been hungry all the years-My noon had come, to dine-I, trembling, drew the table nearAnd touched the curious wine. 'Twas this on tables I had seenWhen turning, hungry, lone,I looked in windows, for the wealthI could not hope to own. I did not know the ample bread,'Twas so unlike the crumbThe birds and I had often sharedIn Nature's diningroom. The plenty hurt me, 'twas so new,--Myself felt ill and odd,As berry of a mountain bushTransplanted to the road. Nor was I hungry; so I foundThat hunger was a wayOf persons outside windows,The entering takes away."
"The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination."
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