Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.

The thing we often forget to talk about, or perhaps we take for granted, is our country's dazzling beauty. Our natural environment is so much a part of Australia's art, writing, music and culture, both indigenous and non indigenous.

Like music and art, love of nature is a common language that can transcend political or social boundaries.

Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.

If Antarctica were music it would be Mozart. Art, and it would be Michelangelo. Literature, and it would be Shakespeare. And yet it is something even greater; the only place on earth that is still as it should be. May we never tame it.

There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

Nature's music is never over; her silences are pauses, not conclusions.

When I look at green trees on a sunny day, I don't know how to make an interesting picture of that.

To strong, susceptible characters, the music of nature is not confined to sweet sounds.

When you're outside, and everything is highland, it's like nature has its own sound, and that's one of my favorite sounds. I really loved sitting still silently outside, in a tree or in a bush, to just think.

I like Canada for a number of reasons, politics and people and all that stuff aside. I was raised there, and I write music best when I'm in situations that I'm surrounded by nature, and when there's seasons.

She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean.

A theologian who does not love art, poetry, music and nature can be dangerous. Blindness and deafness toward the beautiful are not incidental; they necessarily are reflected in his theology.

What will the solemn Hemlock- What will the Oak tree say?

The wren and the nightingale sound nothing alike, but think how dull the world would be without the songs of both birds.-Miss Kanagawa

Over the river a golden ray of sun came through the hosts of leaden rain clouds.

Nature is a vast tablet, inscribed with signs, each of which has its own significancy, and becomes poetry in the mind when read; and geology is simply the key by which myriads of these signs, hitherto indecipherable, can be unlocked and perused, and thus a new province added to the poetical domain.

There is nothing more musical than a sunset.

One thing is certain, and I have always known it - the joys of my life have nothing to do with age. They do not change. Flowers, the morning and evening light, music, poetry, silence, the goldfinches darting about

Oak, granite, Lilies by the road, Remember me? I remember you. Clouds brushing Clover hills, Remember me? Sister, child, Grown tall, Remember me? I remember you.

Clouds float in the same pattern only once.

Now God be thanked that the name of a hill is such music, that the name of a river can heal.

See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks!

Far clouds of feathery gold, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea.