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Flowers-Forget-Me-Not: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
Dodder. Cuscuta. In the roadside thicket hiding, Sing, robin, sing! See the yellow dodder, gliding, Ring, bluebells, ring! Like a living skein inlacing, Coiling, climbing, turning, chasing, Through the fragrant sweet-fern racing- Laugh, O murmuring Spring!— SARAH F. DAVIS — Summer Song.
Flag. Iris. The yellow flags *** would stand Up to their chins in water.— JEAN INGELOW — Song of the Night
Watches. Watch I. And nearer to the river's trembling edge There grew broad flag-flowers, purple, prankt with white; And starry river buds among the sedge; And floating water-lilies, broad and bright— SHELLEY — The Question.
Flower-de-Luce. Iris. Born in the purple, born to joy and pleasance, Thou dost not toil nor spin, But makest glad and radiant with thy presence The meadow and the lin. LONGFELLOw-Flower-de-Luce. St. 3. O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river Linger to kiss thy feet! O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever The world more fair and sweet.— LONGFELLOW — Flower-de-Luce. St. 8.
Lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one!— Shakespeare — Winters' Tale. Act IV. Sc. 4. L. 126.
Forget-me-not. Myosotis. That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook, Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not.— COLERIDGE — The Keepsake.
And rose with aspect almost calm, And filled her hand With cherry-bloom, and moved away To gather wild forget-me-not.— JEAN INGELOW — The Letter L Absent. St. 22.
Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue, Spring, glittering with the cheerful drops like dew.— N. MÜLLER — The Paradise of Tears. Trans. by Bryant.
The sweet forget-me-nots, That grow for happy lovers.— TENNYSON — The Brook. L. 172.
Foxglove. Digitalis. An empty sky, a world of heather, Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom; We two among them wading together, Shaking out honey, treading perfume.— JEAN INGELOW — Divided. Pt. I.
Furze. Ulex. With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay. C.— GOLDSMITH — The Deserted Village. L. 194.
Gentian. Gentiana. And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.— BRYANT — November.
Thou blossom! bright with autumn dew, And colour'd with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night.— BRYANT — To the Fringed Gentian.
Along this quiet wood road, winding slow, When free October ranged its sylvan ways, And, vaulting up the terraced steep below, Chased laughing sunbeams thro' the golden days, In matchless beauty, tender and serene, The gentian reigned, an undisputed queen.— ELAINE GOODALE — Fringed Gentian.
Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?— MONTGOMERY — The Gentianella.
Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow, Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground, With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow The gentian nods in dewy slumbers bound.— SARAH HELEN WHITMAN — A Still Day in Autumn. St. 6.
Near where yon rocks the stream inurn The lonely gentian blossoms still.— SARAH HELEN WHITMAN — Evening on the Banks of the Moshassuck. St. 3.
Gillyflower. Matthiola. The fairest flowers o'the season Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards.— Shakespeare — Winter's Tale. Act IV. Sc. 3. L. 81.
FLOWERS-GOLDENROD. 229 Bring hether the pincke and purple cullambine, With gelliflowres.— SPENSER — The Shepherd's Calendar. Song. St. 12.
Goldenrod. Solidago. Still the Goldenrod of the roadside clod Is of all, the best!— SIMEON TUCKER CLARK — Goldenrod.
I lie amid the Goldenrod, I love to see it lean and nod; I love to feel the grassy sod Whose kindly breast will hold me last, Whose patient arms will fold me fast!- Fold me from sunshine and from song, Fold me from sorrow and from wrong: Through gleaming gates of Goldenrod I'll pass into the rest of God.— MARY CLEMMER — Goldenrod.
Last stanza. Nature lies disheveled, pale, With her feverish lips apart, - Day by day the pulses fail, Nearer to her bounding heart; Yet that slackened grasp doth hold Store of pure and genuine gold; Quick thou comest, strong and free, Type of all the wealth to be,- Goldenrod!— ELAINE GOODALE — Goldenrod.
I know the lands are lit With all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.— HELEN HUNT JACKSON — Asters and
Goldenrod. Because its myriad glimmering plumes Like a great army's stir and wave; Because its golden billows blooms, The poor man's barren walks to lave: Because its sun-shaped blossoms show How souls receive the light of God, And unto earth give back that glow- I thank Him for the Goldenrod.— LUCY LARCOM — Goldenrod.
Welcome, dear Goldenrod, once more, Thou mimic, flowering elm! I always think that Summer's store Hangs from thy laden stem.— HORACE H. SCUDDER — To the Goldenrod
at Midsummer. The hollows are heavy and dank With the steam of the Goldenrods.— BAYARD TAYLOR — The Guests of Night.
Graceful, tossing plume of glowing gold, Waving lonely on the rocky ledge; Leaning seaward, lovely to behold, Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge. S.— CELIA THAXTER — Seaside Goldenrod.