Last week, when I went early into my garden, a rose-breasted grosbeak was sitting on the fence. Oh, he was beautiful as a flower. I hardly dared to breathe, I did not stir, and we gazed at each other fully five minutes before he concluded to move. Celia Thaxter More Quotes by Celia Thaxter More Quotes From Celia Thaxter He who is born with a silver spoon in his mouth is generally considered a fortunate person, but his good fortune is small compared to that of the happy mortal who enters this world with a passion for flowers in his soul. Celia Thaxter passion garden flower When in these fresh mornings I go into my garden before any one is awake, I go for the time being into perfect happiness. Celia Thaxter garden time morning There shall be an eternal summer in the grateful heart. Celia Thaxter grateful summer inspirational Of all the wonderful things in the wonderful universe of God, nothing seems to me more surprising than the planting of a seed in the blank earth and the result thereof. Take that Poppy seed, for instance: it lies in your palm, the merest atom of matter, hardly visible, a speck, a pin's point in bulk, but within it is imprisoned a spirit of beauty ineffable, which will break its bonds and emerge from the dark ground and blossom in a splendor so dazzling as to baffle all powers of description. Celia Thaxter dark beauty lying Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget Celia Thaxter sunrise soul comfort When in these fresh mornings I go into my garden before anyone is awake, I go for the time being into perfect happiness. In this hour divinely fresh and still, the fair face of every flower salutes me with a silent joy. . . . All the cares, perplexities, and griefs of existence, all the burdens of life slip from my shoulders and leave me with the heart of a little child that asks nothing beyond the present moment of innocent bliss. Celia Thaxter flower morning children Like the musician, the painter, the poet and the rest, the true lover of flowers is born, not made. Celia Thaxter musician lovers flower One golden day redeems a weary year Celia Thaxter golden-days happiness years Ever since I could remember anything, flowers have been like dear friends to me, comforters, inspirers, powers to uplift and to cheer. Celia Thaxter cheer flower uplifting This very act of planting a seed in the earth has in it to me something beautiful. I always do it with a joy that is largely mixed with awe. Celia Thaxter summer joy beautiful I wonder what spendthrift chose to spill Celia Thaxter glitter gold doe Peacefully Celia Thaxter stars twilight summer To stand by the beds at sunrise and see the flowers awake is a heavenly delight. Celia Thaxter sunrise bed flower As I work among my flowers, I find myself talking to them, reasoning and remonstrating with them, and adoring them as if they were human beings. Much laughter I provoke among my friends by so doing, but that is of no consequence. We are on such good terms, my flowers and I. Celia Thaxter laughter flower friendship Early in April, as I was vigorously hoeing in a corner, I unearthed a huge toad, to my perfect delight and satisfaction; he had lived all winter, he had doubtless fed on slugs all the autumn. I could have kissed him on the spot. Celia Thaxter autumn winter life Like the musician, the painter, the poet, and the rest, the true lover of flowers is born, not made. And he is born to happiness in this vale of tears, to a certain amount of the purest joy that earth can giver her children, joy that is tranquil, innocent, uplifting, unfailing. Celia Thaxter uplifting happiness children When the snow is still blowing against the window-pane in January and February and the wild winds are howling without, what pleasure it is to plan for summer that is to be. Celia Thaxter healing summer winter No sadder sound salutes you than the clear, Wild laughter of the loon. Celia Thaxter salute laughter sound Look to the East, where up the lucid sky; the morning climbs! The day shall yet be fair. Celia Thaxter east sky morning The heart of God through his creation stirs, We thrill to feel it, trembling as the flowers That die to live again, his messengers, To keep faith firm in these sad souls of ours. The waves of Time may devastate our lives, The frosts of age may check our failing breath, They shall not touch the spirit that survives Triumphant over doubt and pain and death. Celia Thaxter pain flower heart
