Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Beautiful flowers of spring show me hope,
Winter blahs but seeing them helps me cope,
Breaking through the dark winter snow,
Bringing life and promise, no one can know.
The color of life it does bring forth,
Giving spirit to a weary soul,
Vibrant colors anew in our sight
A new season shall soon take flight.
Spring Poems
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
The beauty of a flower can make me pause,
A vibrant hue to refresh my vision
A burst of summer and its cause,
In every petal, I can see ambition.
The hue, the shape, and its tenderness seen,
Providing inspiration for one's life.
God's love for beauty is so pure and serene,
Giving hope to daily strife.
We'll each have our seasonal moments here,
Where we should take notice of heaven's bliss.
His kind heart gives us stunning things to cheer,
Blessings that we'll never want to miss.
Poems About Beauty
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Winding through forest pathways that surround,
Glimpses of untamed beauty abound.
Wildflowers so bright and delicate, yellows and blues,
Each distinct but blended in mosaic hues
Daisies, buttercups, and bluebells,
All in a floral parade they dwell.
In the shadows of ancient trees, their colors show,
Unfurl their petals with grace and glow.
Garden Verses
Poem written by Mildred Howells in 1896
Within a garden once there grew
A flower that seemed the very pattern
Of all propriety; none knew
She was at heart a wandering slattern.
The gardener old, with care and pain,
Had trained her up as she should grow,
Nor dreamed amid his labor vain
That rank rebellion lurked below.
A name sufficiently high-sounding
He diligently sought for her,
Until he thought that "Rebounding
Elizabeth" he should prefer.
But when grown up the flower began
To show the tastes within her hidden;
At every chance quite wild she ran,
In spite of being sternly chidden.
They told her beds for flowers were best;
But daily greater grew her failings;
Up to the fence she boldly pressed,
And stuck her head between the palings.
Then to the street she struggled through,
Tearing to rags her silken attire,
And all along the road she grew,
Regardless quite of dust and mire.
You'll find her now by country ways,
A tattered tramp, though comely yet,
With rosy cheek and saucy gaze,
And known to all as "Bouncing Bet."
You may also find inspiration to share with gardeners in
our collection of nature poems.
Poet: Charles Fenno Hoffman
Teach thee their language! sweet, I know no tongue.
No mystic art those gentle things declare,
I ne'er could trace the schoolman's trick among
Created things, so delicate and rare:
Their language? Prythee! why they are themselves
But bright thoughts syllabled to shape and hue,
The tongue that erst was spoken by the elves.
When tenderness as yet within the world was new.
And oh, do not their soft and starry eyes —
Now bent to earth, to heaven now meekly pleading—
Their incense fainting as it seeks the skies,
Yet still from earth with freshening hope receding —
Say, do not these to every heart declare.
With all the silent eloquence of truth.
The language that they speak is Nature's prayer.
To give her back those spotless days of youth?
flower quotes
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
As the leaves turn color and begin to fall
Autumn is upon us, we need to wear a shawl.
The flowers begin to slacken and die,
We reluctantly bid them goodbye.
An annual ritual we repeat,
Yet these petals in the spring we'll meet.
The flowers may die, oh, so slow
But the trees put on a brilliant show.
Tree Poems
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2010
Give me roses while I'm here so I can enjoy them,
Don't leave them till I'm in my grave where time will soon destroy them.
Let me see their beauty now, let their fragrance fill me;
Let their beauty light my day and let their glory thrill me.
But better still I'll be inspired because you have remembered,
I need uplifting at this time, my heart feels so encumbered.
This thought of love you've sent my way, your kind consideration,
Does more to lift my grief and pain than any celebration.
To feel your tenderness to me, my futile days are lightened;
Although I walk in dark despair, your love my hope has brightened.
To know that someone else is there who's touched by my condition,
It gives me hope to struggle on, reviewing my position.
Truly, life is hard enough, encourage me with flowers,
But better still, do pray for me through all these lonely hours.
I know God's not forsaken me but often I am lonely,
I long to have companionship, it's what I crave for only.
Oh, healing would be wonderful! My heart would thrill within me,
However, I'm not at that stage, my life is mostly waning.
But you can brighten up my day whenever you send me flowers
I'll know that someone out there cares through all these lonely hours.
God's Garden Poems
Poet: Walter De La Mare
Speak not--whisper not;
Here bloweth thyme and bergamot;
Softly on the evening hour,
Secret herbs their spices shower,
Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh,
Lean-stalked, purple lavender;
Hides within her bosom, too,
All her sorrows, bitter rue.
Breathe not--trespass not;
Of this green and darkling spot,
Latticed from the moon’s beams,
Perchance a distant dreamer dreams;
Perchance upon its darkening air,
The unseen ghosts of children fare,
Faintly swinging, sway and sweep,
Like lovely sea-flowers in its deep;
While, unmoved, to watch and ward,
’Mid its gloom’d and daisied sward,
Stands with bowed and dewy head
That one little leaden Lad.
Poet: Eloise A. Skimings
Hope amid despair, sweet flowers,
Blossoming in winter bowers,
Rare Chrysanthemums;
Purest white, and yellow too.
Fresh as if the morning dew
Had come down from Heaven on you,
Sweet Chrysanthemums.
In gold and crimson, too, ye bloom,
Fit to bedeck a monarch's room,
Grand Chrysanthemums;
Clustering in profusion wild,
Type of innocence, in winter mild,
Which by thy presence is beguil'd,
Lov'd Chrysanthemums.
Month Poems
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
Who made the flowers? "I," said the sun,
"Through many long hours, I made each one."
"'Twas I," said the rain, " 'twas my cooling breath
Refreshed them again and saved them from death."
"The flowers cam with me," cried the wind with delight;
"There was no one to see in the depth of the night.
I bore them to the earth on the spread of my wings.
"Twas I gave them birth, the bright, darling things."
"'Twas I," said the soil. Cried the gardner, "No!
Through my care and toil, the blossoms now show!"
Then the stars still and calm and pale, stately moon
Sang a heavenly psalm to a long-ago tune.
"Who made thee flowers? Not the sun, rain or sod.
Nor man's vital powers - but the quiet thought of God."
Summer Poems
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Flowers have a way of talking, they can say:
I hope you feel better today.
My love for you they can express,
Dearer than any special dress.
Let these flowers show
As I say, I miss you so.
Thinking of you this day,
May these flowers say.
May your day be brightened too
With these flowers sent to you.
Thank you for all you do
A flower can express a thank you!
No matter what the message I send
You will find that flowers tend
To bring a small touch of sunshine and spring.
The joys that a bouquet of flowers bring!
Poems About Joy
Poet: Ethel Lynn Beers
Where are the sweet, old-fashioned posies,
Quaint in form and bright in hue,
Such as grandma gave her lovers
When she walked the garden through?
Lavender, with spikes of azure
Pointing to the dome on high.
Telling thus whence came its color,
Thanking with its breath the sky.
Four-o'clock, with heart upfolding,
When the loving sun had gone,
Streak and stain of cunning crimson,
Like the light of early dawn.
Regal lilies, many-petalled.
Like the curling drifts of snow.
With their crown of golden anthers
Poised on malachite below.
Morning-glories, tents of purple
Stretched on bars of creamy white,
Folding up their satin curtains
Inward through the dewy night.
Marigold, with coat of velvet
Streaked with gold and yellow lace,
With its love for summer sunlight
Written on its honest face.
Dainty pink, with feathered petals
Tinted, curled, and deeply frayed,
With its calyx heart, half broken,
On its leaves uplifted laid.
Can't you see them in the garden,
Where dear grandma takes her nap?
See cherry blooms shake softly over
Silver hair and snowy cap?
Will the modern florist's triumph
Look so fair, or smell so sweet,
As those dear old-fashioned posies
Blooming round our grandma's feet?
Poet: Mrs. Hemans
Oh! beautiful thou art,
Thou sculpture-like and stately River-Queen!
Crowning the depths, as with the light serene
Of a pure heart.
Bright lily of the wave!
Rising in fearless grace with every swell,
Thou seem'st as if a spirit meekly brave
Dwelt in thy cell:
Lifting alike thy head
Of placid beauty, feminine yet free.
Whether with foam or pictured azure spread
The waters be.
What is like thee, fair flower,
The gentle and the firm? thus bearing up
To the blue sky that alabaster cup.
As to the shower?
Oh! Love is most like thee,
The love of woman; quivering to the blast
Through every nerve, yet rooted deep and fast,
'Midst Life's dark sea.
And Faith — O, is not faith
Like thee too, Lily, springing into light.
Still buoyantly above the billows' might.
Through the storm's breath?
Yes, link'd with such high thought.
Flower, let thine image in my bosom lie!
Till something there of its own purity
And peace be wrought:
Something yet more divine
Than the clear, pearly, virgin lustre shed
Forth from thy breast upon the river's bed,
As from a shrine.
Poet: John Imrie
Oh, Pansy I with the velvet hue,
And spots of gold, and pearly dew;
How gracefully you hang your head,
Scarce rais'd above your humble bed.
I love you for your queenly grace,
Your happy smile, your winsome face;
In sweet retreats you love to dwell,
And lend the vale thy beauty- spell.
Sweet emblem of a "heart at ease,"
Thy form my inmost fancies please;
In quiet beauty you excel
All other flowers in wood or dell.
Thou mightest well be Flora's queen,
If thou wouldst let thy charms be seen;
And seek to vie with other flowers
That deck with beauty kingly bowers.
But thou art wise to grace the spot
Where God has cast thy humble lot;
And there, secure from rude alarms.
Display thy modest, winsome charms!
When I look up from thee to God,
And see His glory in the sod.
My heart in sweet tranquility
Would learn from thee "humility!"
Christian Poems
Poet: Margaret E. Sangster
My little primrose, gentle flower,
The darling of how many an hour,
When thou and I together gaze
In sheltered peace on stormful days.
Above thee broods a quiet hush
And yet the shadow of a blush,
That once had stirred the vestal air,
Is traced upon thy petals fair.
Nor bird, nor butterfly, nor bee.
Hath ever whispered love to thee,
Nor sunbeam ventured to caress,
Too bold, thy sweet unconsciousness.
Why, then, the dream of roseate glow,
So faint upon thy virgin snow?
Can'st thou divine how dear thou art.
White winter blossom, to my heart?
How in thy dainty grace I see
A pledge of lovely things to be,
And wait, when thou hast had thy day.
To greet the flowery fields of May?
The wildwood treasures, coy and sweet,
The bloom of gardens, and the fleet.
Large rapture of the orchard's foam.
In that delightful time to come.
Will say but this, which thou dost say
So softly to my soul to-day:
"The Lord who keeps his promises
Is near thee ever, near to bless.
No spoken word his heart forgets,
The hour for leaf and bird he sets;
Who cares for fragile flower shall be
A strong defence to thine and thee."
Smile on, my little primrose fair,
Shed faintest perfume on the air;
The winds may rave, the rain may fall,
But we are happy through it all.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
You can see the love of God
In every flower made
Design with such detail
Beauty in every blade.
You can see the love of God
In so many different flowers given
Beauty that surrounds us
Just stop and look at the garden.
You can see the love of God
In the rose and daisy too
Made to remind us all
That God's love is very true.
Poems About God's Love
Poet: Julia Dorr
Stately hollyhocks, row on row,
Golden sunflowers all aglow,
Scarlet poppies, and larkspurs blue,
Asters of every shade and hue;
And over the wall, hike a trail of fire,
The red nasturtium climbs high and higher.
My lady's-slippers are fair to see,
And her pinks are as sweet as sweet can be,
With gillyflowers and mourning-brides,
And many another flower besides.
Hollyhocks Poem
Poet: Rose Terry Cooke
Give me the old Dutch honeysuckle
A-makin' even the night-time sweet,
A-blossomin' at every knuckle,
And hangin' to your very feet.
And pink and buff and white carnations,
And rosebuds snuggled up in moss,
Heart's-ease and violets, dear relations,
And gay snapdragons, bright and cross.
Give me the good old week-day blossoms
I used to see so long ago,
With hearty sweetness in their bosoms,
Ready and glad to bud an' blow.
More poems about flowers by the famous poet, John Imrie
Poet: Ina D. Coolbrith
I think I would not be
A stately tree,
Broad-boughed, with haughty crest that seeks the sky!
Too many sorrows lie
In years, too much of bitter for the sweet!
Frost-bite, and blast, and heat,
Blind drought, cold rains, must all grow wearisome,
Ere one could put away
Their leafy garb for aye,
And let death come.
Rather this wayside flower!
To live its happy hour
Of balmy air, of sunshine, and of dew.
A sinless face held upward to the blue;
A bird-song sung to it,
A butterfly to flit
On dazzling wings above it, hither, thither -
A sweet surprise of life - and then exhale
A little fragrant soul on the soft gale.
To float - ah, whither!
Poet: Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Take them and keep them,
Silvery thorn and flower,
Plucked just at random
In the rosy weather
Snowdrops and pansies,
Sprigs of wayside heather.
And five-leaved wild-rose
Dead within an hour.
Take them and keep them;
Who can tell? Some day, dear,
(Though they be withered,
Flower and thorn and blossom,)
Held for an instant
Up against thy bosom,
They might make December
Seem to thee like May, dear!
Find more rose poems to inspire you.
Poet: Christina Rossetti
O that it were with me
As with the flower;
Blooming on its own tree
For butterfly and bee
In summer morns:
That I might bloom mine hour
A rose in spite of thorns.
O that my work were done
As birds that soar
Rejoicing in the sun:
That when my time is run
And daylight too,
I so may rest once more
Cool with refreshing dew.
Poet: Ellen Mackay Hutchinson
I cannot tell why lilac-flowers
Should bring me such strange dreams:
Within their scented purple buds
A wondrous witchcraft gleams.
Ah, Lilac! in your pretty art
You give me of the best,
The passion of the Orient,
The sweetness of the West!
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