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The Poet gathers fruit from every tree,
Yea, grapes from thorns and figs from thistles he.
Pluck'd by his hand, the basest weed that grows
Towers to a lily, reddens to a rose.

— William Watson Epigrams of Art, Life, and Nature (1884)

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More quotes by William Watson

Sea that breakest for ever, that breakest and never art broken.

The Father of the Forest and Other Poems (1895)

Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds.

The Father of the Forest and Other Poems (1895)

Hate and mistrust are the children of blindness.

Wordsworth's Grave and Other Poems (1890)

Thou hadst, for weary feet, the gift of rest.

The stars of heaven are free because
In amplitude of liberty
Their joy is to obey the laws.

Lacrymæ Musarum and Other Poems (1893)

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Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: William Watson (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.