“How does the meadow-flower its bloom unfold?Because the lovely little flower is freeDown to its root, and in that freedom bold.”

“Thanks to the human heart by which we live,Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and its fears,To me the meanest flower that blows can giveThoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”

“Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind;In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever be...”

“When from our better selves we have too longBeen parted by the hurrying world, and droop,Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,How gracious, how benign, is Solitude”

“What though the radiance that was once so bright, be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.”

“Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride,Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,Is littleness; that he, who feels contemptFor any living thing, hath facultiesWhich he has never used; that thought with himIs in its infancy...”

“A bud is a flower-to-be. A flower in waiting. Waiting for just the right warmth and care to open up. It's a little fist of love waiting to unfold and be seen by the world. And that's you.”