“I'd be a butterfly born in a bower,
Where roses and lilies and violets meet.”
Thomas Haynes Bayly (1797–1839) English poet, songwriter, dramatist, and writer
I'd be a Butterfly, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
“There is a garden where lilies
And roses are side by side;
And all day between them in silence
The silken butterflies glide.”
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And roses are side by side;
And all day between them in silence
The silken butterflie…" by Francis Turner Palgrave?
Francis Turner Palgrave21
English poet and critic 1824–1897Related quotes
“Doth logic in the lily hide,
And where's the reason in the rose?”
Alfred Austin (1835–1913) British writer and poet
The Door of Humility (1906)
Source: "Rome", XLI, line 11; p. 116.
Thomas Campion (1567–1620) English composer, poet and physician
Cherry Ripe http://www.bartleby.com/106/91.html
“The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end”
T.S. Eliot (1888–1965) 20th century English author
Ash-Wednesday (1930)
Context: Lady of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.
Edmund Waller (1606–1687) English poet and politician
Cherry-Ripe http://www.bartleby.com/101/168.html. <br class="br">Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham (1857)
Adam Mickiewicz (1798–1855) Polish national poet, dramatist, essayist, publicist, translator, professor of Slavic literature, and polit…
"The Grave of the Countess Potocki" http://daisy.htmlplanet.com/amick.htm <br class="br">Crimean Sonnets
George MacDonald (1824–1905) Scottish journalist, novelist
The Fantastic Imagination (1893)
Context: A fairytale, like a butterfly or a bee, helps itself on all sides, sips at every wholesome flower, and spoils not one. The true fairytale is, to my mind, very like the sonata. We all know that a sonata means something; and where there is the faculty of talking with suitable vagueness, and choosing metaphor sufficiently loose, mind may approach mind, in the interpretation of a sonata, with the result of a more or less contenting consciousness of sympathy. But if two or three men sat down to write each what the sonata meant to him, what approximation to definite idea would be the result? Little enough — and that little more than needful. We should find it had roused related, if not identical, feelings, but probably not one common thought. Has the sonata therefore failed? Had it undertaken to convey, or ought it to be expected to impart anything defined, anything notionally recognizable?
"But words are not music; words at least are meant and fitted to carry a precise meaning!"
It is very seldom indeed that they carry the exact meaning of any user of them! And if they can be so used as to convey definite meaning, it does not follow that they ought never to carry anything else. Words are like things that may be variously employed to various ends. They can convey a scientific fact, or throw a shadow of her child's dream on the heart of a mother. They are things to put together like the pieces of a dissected map, or to arrange like the notes on a stave.
Christina Rossetti (1830–1894) English poet
Hope is like a Harebell; reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).