THE red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips

— John Boyle O’Reilly,  A White Rose

My little daughter is a tea-rose,
Satin to the touch,
Wine to the lips,
And a faint, delirious perfume.
But my little son
Is a June apple,
Firm and cool,
And scornful of too much sweetness,
But full of tang and flavor
And better than bread to the hungry.
O wild winds, and clumsy, pilfering bees,
With the whole world to be wanton in,
Will you not spare my little tea-rose?
And O ruthless blind creatures,
Who lay eggs of evil at the core of life,
Pass by my one red apple,
That is so firm and sound!

— Karle Wilson Baker, Apple and Rose

Now the waves murmur
And the boughs and the shrubs tremble
in the morning breeze,
And on the green branches the pleasant birds
Sing softly
And the east smiles;
Now dawn already appears
And mirrors herself in the sea,
And makes the sky serene,
And the gentle frost impearls the fields
And gilds the high mountains:
O beautiful and gracious Aurora,
The breeze is your messenger, and you the breeze’s
Which revives each burnt-out heart.

— Torquato Tasso, Now the Waves Murmur

I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby’s very
own world.
I know it has stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops
down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows.
Those who make believe to be dumb, and look as if they never
could move, come creeping to his window with their stories and with
trays crowded with bright toys.
I wish I could travel by the road that crosses baby’s mind,
and out beyond all bounds;
Where messengers run errands for no cause between the kingdoms
of kings of no history;
Where Reason makes kites of her laws and flies them, the Truth
sets Fact free from its fetters.

— Rabindranath Tagore, Baby’s World

Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream drapery,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the dasied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of the lake and seas and rivers,
Bear only purfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men’s fields!

— Henry David Thoreau, Mist

Though he, that ever kind and true,
Kept stoutly step by step with you,
Your whole long, gusty lifetime through,
Be gone a while before,
Be now a moment gone before,
Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall restore
Your friend to you.

He has but turned the corner — still
He pushes on with right good will,
Through mire and marsh, by heugh and hill,
That self-same arduous way —
That self-same upland, hopeful way,
That you and he through many a doubtful day
Attempted still.

He is not dead, this friend — not dead,
But in the path we mortals tread
Got some few, trifling steps ahead
And nearer to the end;
So that you too, once past the bend,
Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend
You fancy dead.

Push gaily on, strong heart! The while
You travel forward mile by mile,
He loiters with a backward smile
Till you can overtake,
And strains his eyes to search his wake,
Or whistling, as he sees you through the brake,
Waits on a stile.

— Robert Louis Stevenson, Consolation

1I love the LORD, because he hath heard my voice and my supplications.

2Because he hath inclined his ear unto me, therefore will I call uponhim as long as I live.

3The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me: I found trouble and sorrow.

4Then called I upon the name of the LORD; O LORD, I beseech thee, deliver my soul.

5Gracious is the LORD, and righteous; yea, our God is merciful.

6The LORD preserveth the simple: I was brought low, and he helped me.

7Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the LORD hath dealt bountifully with thee.

8For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears,and my feet from falling.

9I will walk before the LORD in the land of the living.

10I believed, therefore have I spoken: I was greatly afflicted:

11I said in my haste, All men are liars.

12What shall I render unto the LORD for all his benefits toward me?

13I will take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of the LORD.

14I will pay my vows unto the LORD now in the presence of all his people.

15Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.

16O LORD, truly I am thy servant; I am thy servant, and the son of thine handmaid: thou hast loosed my bonds.

17I will offer to thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving, and will call upon the name of the LORD.

18I will pay my vows unto the LORD now in the presence of all his people,

19In the courts of the LORD’S house, in the midst of thee, O Jerusalem. Praise ye the LORD.

— Psalms, Chapter 116

Go on a starlit night,
stand on your head,
leave your feet dangling
outwards into space,
and let the starry
firmament you tread
be, for the moment,
your elected base.

Feel Earth’s colossal weight
of ice and granite,
of molten magma,
water, iron, and lead;
and briefly hold
this strangely solid planet
balanced upon
your strangely solid head.

— Piet Hein, Astro-Gymnastics

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

— Emily Dickinson, If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking