We are the gardeners,
Cherishing the earth,
Nurturing frail blooms
Which grasping weeds would spoil.
Undaunted, we strive.
Warm sun and cool rain,
Both we bless and curse
As they caress the soil.
We heard there was an Eden once.
For that alone we toil.
~ Barbara Koska Timm
"If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft
And in thy stores two loaves alone are left,
Sell one and with the dole,
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul."
~ Sa'di (1184-1291)
The Welcoming Drive
Spring Border ~ The Entry to the Woodland Path
"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:"
Shakespeare ~ "A Midsummer Night's Dream"
Tulips Among the Gaulthia ~ Anenomies by the Oak Tree
Tulips Surounding Flowering Almond Tulips of the Day in Front of Carol Mackey Which Smells Like Honey
"My beloved spake, and said unto me,
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land."
~ The Shulamite, Song of Solomon 2:10-12, The Holy Bible
White Exbury ~ Pink Exbury
New Growth Leaves & Shooting Stars
Who loves a garden
Finds within his soul
He hears the anthem of the soil
While ingrates toil;
And sees beyond his little sphere
The waving fronds of heaven, clear.
~ Louise Seymore Jones
Bleeding Heart ~ Virginia Bluebells
Spring has officially arrived. The Indigo Buntings and the Baltimore Orioles are at the feeder ~ Hurrah!
A little blue Bunting is on the ground next to the grey patio stone.
New Woods Waiting for Summer ~ Summer is A-Comin' In
(Left and right are the same view.)
Sumer is a-cumen in!
Loudly sing cuckoo!
Grows the seed and blows the mead
And springs the wood anew!
Ewe bleats harshly after lamb,
Cows after calves make moo
Bullock stamps and deer champs
Now shrilly sing cuckoo!
Wild bird are you!
Be never still cuckoo!
The gardener in his old brown hands
Turns over the brown earth,
As if he loves and understands
The flowers before their birth,
The fragile little childish strands
He buries in the earth.
Like pious children one by one
He sets them head by head,
And draws the clothes, when all is done,
Closely about each head,
And leaves his children to sleep on
In the one quiet bed.
~ Arthur Symons (1865-1945)
First Iris With False Strawberries For Ground Cover ~ Sweet Flag With Trollius