Category Archives: Nature

Rain on the Roof

When the humid shadows hover
Over all the starry spheres
And the melancholy darkness
Gently weeps in rainy tears,
What a bliss to press the pillow
Of a cottage-chamber bed
And lie listening to the patter
Of the soft rain overhead!

Every tinkle on the shingles
Has an echo in the heart;
And a thousand dreamy fancies
Into busy being start,
And a thousand recollections
Weave their air-threads into woof,
As I listen to the patter
Of the rain upon the roof.

Now in memory comes my mother,
As she used in years agone,
To regard the darling dreamers
Ere she left them till the dawn:
O! I see her leaning o’er me
As I list to this refrain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.

Then my little seraph sister,
With her wings and waving hair,
And her bright-eyed cherub brother –
A serene, angelic pair! –
Glide around my wakeful pillow,
With their praise or mild reproof,
As I listen to the murmur
Of the soft rain on the roof.

And another comes to thrill me
With her eyes delicious blue;
And I mind not, musing on her
That her heart was all untrue:
I remember but to love her
With a rapture kin to pain,
And my heart’s quick pulses vibrate
To the patter of the rain.

Art hath naught of tone or cadence,
That can work with such a spell
In the soul’s mysterious fountains,
Whence the tears of rapture well,
As that melody of Nature,
That subdued, subduing strain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.

~Coates Kinney~


City Trees

The trees along our city streets
Are lovely, gallant things;
Their roots lie deep in blackened soil,
And yet they spread their wings

Of branching green or fretted twigs
Beneath a sullen sky,
And when the wind howls banshee-like
They bow to passers-by.

In fall their leaves are bannerets
Of dusty red and gold
And fires dim that warm our hearts
Against the coming cold.

Then delicate through winter’s snow
Each silhouette still makes
Black filigree, with frostings rare
Of silver powdered flakes.

But leafed or bare, they bravely rise
With healing in their wings—
The trees along our city streets
Are lovely, gallant things.

~Vere Dargan~


I’m going out! I’m tired of tables, chairs:
I’m tired of walls that hedge me all about;
I’m tired of rooms and ceilings, carpets, stairs,
And so – I’m going out!

Somehow or other what I need today
Are skies, and birds that carol,
Winds that shout!
I want Dame Nature’s friendship.
Thus I say,
“Good-bye. I’m going out!”

It’s just house-tiredness. Trivial humdrum strain!
Monotony! But when I’ve climbed the hill,
My heart, refreshed, will laugh and sing again,
Dear home! I’ll love it still!

~ Ian Drag ~

A Song Of The Road

I lift my cap to Beauty,
I lift my cap to Love;
I bow before my Duty,
And know that God’s above!
My heart through shining arches
Of leaf and blossom goes;
My soul, triumphant, marches
Through life to life’s repose.
And I, through all this glory,
Nor know, nor fear my fate—
The great things are so simple,
The simple are so great!

~ Fred G. Bowles ~

May Day

March winds, April showers, bring forth May flowers.
May is the month of flowers in which Spring’s gradual progress is brought to its final climax. Every where the scent of flowers in profusion fills the air.

May Day
A delicate fabric of bird song
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere.

Red small leaves of the maple
Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
Shining after the rain?
~Sara Teasdale~

My Neighbor’s Roses

The roses red upon my neighbor’s vine
Are owned by him, but they are also mine,
His was the cost, and his the labor, too,
But mine as well as his the joy, their loveliness to view.

They bloom for me and are for me as fair
As for the man who gives them all his care.
Thus I am rich, because a good man grew
A rose-clad vine for all his neighbor’s view.

I know from this that others plant for me,
And what they own, my joy may also be;
So why be selfish, when so much that’s fine
Is grown for you, upon your neighbor’s vine?

~Abraham Gruber~

A Prayer in April

God grant that I may never be
A scoffer at eternity –
As long as every April brings
The sweet rebirth of growing things;
As long as grass is green anew,
As long as April’s skies are blue,
I shall believe that God looks down
Upon His wide earth, cold and brown,
To bless its unborn mystery
Of leaf, of bud, of flower to be;
To smile on it from tender skies –
How could I think it otherwise?
Had I been dust for many a year,
I still would know when spring was near,
For the good earth that pillowed me
Would whisper immortality,
And I, in part, would rise and sing
Amid the grasses murmuring.
When looking on the mother sod,
Can I hold doubt that this be God?
Or when a primrose smiles at me,
Can I distrust Eternity?
~Sara Henderson Hay~


The air is like a butterfly
With frail blue wings.
The happy earth looks at the sky
And sings.

~Joyce Kilmer ~


Thank you very much indeed,
River, for your waving reed;
Hollyhocks, for budding knobs;
Foxgloves, for your velvet fobs;
Pansies, for your silky cheeks;
Chaffinches, for singing beaks;
Spring, for wood anemones
Near the mossy toes of trees;
Summer, for the fruited pear,
Yellowing crab, and cherry fare;
Autumn, for the bearded load,
Hazelnuts, along the road;
Winter, for the fairy tale,
Splitting log and bouncing hail.

But blest Father, high above,
All these joys are from Thy love;
And your children everywhere,
Born in palace, lane, or square,
Cry with voices all agreed,
“Thank you very much indeed.”

~Norman Gale~

A Leafless Tree

I like to see
The patience of a leafless tree
Waiting in quiet dignity,
Till spring shall set its greenness free.

I sometimes think
That living just beneath the sky
Has made it understand and drink
Deeper wisdom than you and I—

It does not prate
Of limitation in its sere
Bare boughs; it does not estimate
The time for fresh leaves to appear;

It seems to know,
Within its great deep-rooted heart,
That never-ending life shall flow
And new springs start.

~Anna Louise Thompson~

Paul Dobraszczyk

rag-picking history

Tdoo in Lesotho

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My favourites and it's an eclectic selection


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Faces in Places

My favourites and it's an eclectic selection