Lighter than dandelion down,
Or feathers from the white moth’s wing,
Out of the gates of bramble-town
The silkweed goes a-gypsying.
— Philip Henry Savage
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More quotes by Philip Henry Savage
Thou hoarse Aristophanic mime,
Grotesque Silenus of the slime,
That dar'st to lift a comic voice
Where thrushes worship and rejoice.
The sun, this old November,
Across the sodden slope,
May bid the heart remember,
But cannot bid it hope.
Where wildness has been wilderness shall be,
But give God time; and life is but a span,
Nine inches, while before it and behind
Stretches the garden of the cosmic gods.
New friends forbear, and let old friends remember
With pity him who ends his course to-day;
Nor heap with scorn his grave in dead December
Whose life bore golden promises in May.
'Tis grace to sing to nature, and to pray
The God of nature, out of His large heart,
To grant us knowledge of His human way;
This is the whole of nature and of art.
Untitled]; First Poems & Fragments (1895)
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