The vibe of my wedding is kind of going to be ethereal. Simple and modern, in a way, but with a lot of greenery. So, eucalyptus, olive branches, moss, and candles - it's going to be very... I want it to feel very comfortable, but obviously sleek.
May the countryside and the gliding valley streams content me. Lost to fame, let me love river and woodland.
Now summer is in flower and natures hum Is never silent round her sultry bloom Insects as small as dust are never done Wi' glittering dance and reeling in the sun And green wood fly and blossom haunting bee Are never weary of their melody Round field hedge now flowers in full glory twine Large bindweed bells wild hop and streakd woodbine That lift athirst their slender throated flowers Agape for dew falls and for honey showers These round each bush in sweet disorder run And spread their wild hues to the sultry sun.
Anywhere which is in a forest, that's my zen place.
O leave this barren spot to me! Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree.
This was my prayer: an adequate portion of land with a garden and a spring of water and a small wood to complete the picture.
I prayed only for a small piece of land, a garden, an ever-flowing spring, and bit of woods.
I went across the fields to avoid the straight highways, along the firing lines where people were shooting at a small wooded hill, which is now covered with wooden crosses and lines of graves instead of spring flowers.
Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader browner shade; Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think.
The heavy trees, The grunting, shuffling branches, the robust, The nocturnal, the antique, the blue-green pines Deepen the feelings to inhuman depths.
"One impulse from a vernal wood
A stoic of the woods,--a man without a tear.
It was far in the sameness of the wood; I was running with joy on the Demon's trail, Though I knew what I hunted was no true god.
Living here where I live, on a farm way out in the countryside, in the woods, in fact, I have plenty of time to be alone, and I like it. I always have. I like my own company. And I am not the only one who feels this way; a high percentage of the Norwegian population feel as I do.
Give me a land of boughs in leaf A land of trees that stand; Where trees are fallen there is grief; I love no leafless land.
Modern man has a very abstract idea of what a wood is. I guess that if you stopped anyone on the street and asked them what a wood actually was, they would see it as a place where big trees grow.
Research gathered over recent years has highlighted the countless benefits to people, wildlife and the environment that come from planting trees and creating new woodland habitat. It's obvious trees are good things.
The whole territory of the Netherlands was girt with forests.
Well tended garden is better than a neglected wood lot.
To dwellers in a wood, almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature.
Well, very long ago, on the spot where the Wild Wood waves now, before ever it had planted itself and grown up to what it now is, there was a city - a city of people, you know.
The linden, in the fervors of July, Hums with a louder concert. When the wind Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime, As when some master-hand exulting sweeps The keys of some great organ, ye give forth The music of the woodland depths, a hymn Of gladness and of thanks.
Trees are complicated, fascinating things, usually older and more beautiful than any of us.
After a hundred years the son of the King then reigning, who was of another family from that of the sleeping Princess, was a-hunting on that side of the country, and he asked what those towers were which he saw in the middle of a great thick wood.
Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.
