James Russell Lowell Quotes

Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field Is shining white with fragrant immortelles Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells.

The would-bees take their honey from the flowers of creation.

How to extract its honey from the flower of the world. That is my everyday business. I am as busy as a bee about it. I ramble over fields on that errand and am never so happy as when I feel myself heavy with honey and wax. I am like a bee searching the livelong day for the sweets of nature.

Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.

The bee's life is like a magic well: the more you draw from it, the more it fills with water

Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.

The month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom, and to bring forth fruit.

Every flower is a soul blossoming in nature.

The gay bunting erects his white crest, and gives utterance to the joy he feels in the presence of his brooding mate; the willow grouse on the rock crows his challenge aloud; each floweret, chilled by the night air, expands its pure petals; the gentle breeze shakes from the blades of grass the heavy dewdrops.

The Amen of nature is always a flower.

When the sappy boughs Attire themselves with blooms, sweet rudiments Of future harvest.

He told them tales of bees and flowers, the ways of trees, and the strange creatures of the Forest, about the evil things and the good things, things friendly and things unfriendly, cruel things and kind things, and secrets hidden under brambles.

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.

I never saw a discontented tree.

If we surrendered to earth's intelligence we could rise up rooted, like trees.

When the bee has gathered the dew of heaven and the earth's sweetest nectar from the flowers, it turns it into honey, then hastens to its hive. In the same way, the priest, having taken from the altar the Son of God (who is as the dew from heaven, and true son of Mary, flower of our humanity), gives him to you as delicious food.

Abundance is mine. I cannot be deprived of my supply. The trees do not lack for leaves, nor do the flowers fail to bloom.

As long as the hummingbird had not abandoned the land, somewhere there were still flowers, and they could all go on.

Everywhere bees go racing with the hours, / For every bee becomes a drunken lover, / Standing upon his head to sup the flowers.

Carols of gladness ring from every tree.

The calla lilies are in bloom again.

Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave. The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.