“I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?”

-William Wordsworth “Lines Written in Early Spring”

Bright little day stars
Scattered all over the earth,
Ye drape the house of mourning
And ye deck the hall of mirth.

Ye are gathered to grace the ballroom,
Ye are borne to the house of prayer,
Ye wither upon the snowy shroud,
Ye fade in the bride’s jeweled hair.

Ye are relics of bygone ages,
From Eden inherited,
To gladden the homes of the living,
And mourn on the graves of the dead.

“To the Flowers” -Martha Lavinia Hoffman

catch her if you can but it’s doubtful you ever will
she knows the forest, each creek, rock and tree
a slight glimpse of her gives the senses a thrill
as swiftly, gracefully she bolts and will disappear
soon to become her unwitting, small prey
a rabbit, a squirrel, perhaps a field mouse
fox kits are well fed at end of a winter day.

Excerpt from “The Red Fox in Winter” -La Belle Rouge Poetess of the Heart

A filigree tendril expands,
Wisps,
Webbing,
Holding hands.
Underground devoid of light,
Damp,
Duff,
Ghostly white.
Gentle rain, a drop of sun,
Surge,
Spark,
Buttons form.
Reaching, stretching, expanding,
Out,
Up,
Ever dancing.
Umami Orb greets the day,
Fresh,
Fleeting,
Mushrooms play!

“The Unveiling” – Nicolette Matt

I am the goose flying high over waters
And all that I know is the voice that calls,
Deep within is the essence of life,
Like a sweet gentle rain that falls,

You see me as I pass high overhead
And you stand feet planted on firm ground,
My trumpets resonate in the cool autumn air,
And mortal men are entranced by the sound,

It lifts your spirit from coils of the earth
And just for a moment you can almost fly,
Stranger beneath me gazing in wonder,
So quickly the moment passes you by.

O son of man we are creatures of earth
In search of our own destiny,
And at some point we both can meet,
As we share in what it means to be free.

-“Song of the Snow Goose” by Sidney Johnson

Reference photo for this artwork was provided by Joey Endy

No other hand than
His who rules on high,
Could wield the brush and spread such bright array
Upon the outstretched canvas of the sky,
Then draw the curtain of departing day.
-W.E. Hutchinson

Hail sov’reign love that first began,
The scheme to rescue fallen man;
Hail matchless, free, eternal grace,
That gave my soul a Hiding-Place…

-excerpt from ” Hiding Place” by Major Henry Livingston, Jr.

Open, Lord, my inward ear,
And bid my heart rejoice;
Bid my quiet spirit hear
The comfort of thy voice:

Never in the whirlwind found,
Or where earthquakes rock the place, —
Still and silent is the sound,
The whisper, of thy grace.

-Charles Wesley

Lightly He blows, and at His breath they fall,
The perishing kindreds of the leaves; they drift,
Spent flames of scarlet, gold aërial,
Across the hollow year, noiseless and swift.
Lightly He blows, and countless as the falling
Of snow by night upon a solemn sea,
The ages circle down beyond recalling,
To strew the hollows of Eternity.
He sees them drifting through the spaces dim,
And leaves and ages are as one to Him.

-“The Falling Leaves” by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all …

-Emily Dickinson