Dora Read Goodale Quotes

11 Sourced Quotes

The Autumn wood the aster knows,
The empty nest, the wind that grieves,
The sunlight breaking thro' the shade,
The squirrel chattering overhead,
The timid rabbits lighter tread
Among the rustling leaves.

Dora Read Goodale
Whence is yonder flower so strangely bright?
Would the sunset's last reflected shine
Flame so red from that dead flush of light?
Dark with passion is its lifted line,
Hot, alive, amid the falling night.

Dora Read Goodale
I love the fair lilies and roses so gay,
They are rich in their pride and their splendor;
But still more do I love to wander away
To the meadow so sweet,
Where down at my feet,
The harebell blooms modest and tender.

Dora Read Goodale
All the woodland path is broken
By warm tints along the way,
And the low and sunny slope
Is alive with sudden hope
When there comes the silent token
Of an April day,—
Blue hepatica!

Dora Read Goodale
And in the woods a fragrance rare
Of wild azaleas fills the air,
And richly tangled overhead
We see their blossoms sweet and red.

Dora Read Goodale
Crimson clover I discover
By the garden gate,
And the bees about her hover,
But the robins wait.
Sing, robins, sing,
Sing a roundelay,—
'Tis the latest flower of Spring
Coming with the May!

Dora Read Goodale
Where the woodland streamlets flow, Gushing down a rocky bed, Where the tasseled alders grow, Lightly meeting overhead, When the fullest August days Give richness that they know, Then the wild clematis comes, With her wealth of tangled blooms, Reaching up and drooping low.

Dora Read Goodale
And near the unfrequented road, By waysides scorched with barren heat, In clouded pink or softer white She holds the Summer's generous light, - Our native meadow sweet!

Dora Read Goodale
O far away in yonder leafy copse The wandering thrush has flown, And close along the wooded steep We know an influence passing deep, The Summer light, The Summer tone, The rare azalea makes her own, - And we are not alone.

Dora Read Goodale
Now about the rugged places And along the ruined way, Light and free in sudden graces Comes the careless trend of May, — Born of tempest, wrought in power, Stirred by sudden hope and fear, You may find a mystic flower In the spring-time of the year!

Dora Read Goodale
Clear and simple in white and gold, Meadows blossom, of sunlit spaces, - The field is full as it well can hold And white with the drift of the ox-eye daisies!

Dora Read Goodale