Cloths Of Heaven
The Cloths Of Heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
William Butler Yeats
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
WB Yeats Memorial Drumcliffe Churchyard Co. Sligo.
Image source
The human spirit needs places where nature has not been rearranged by the hand of man.
Author Unknown
In June as many as a dozen species may burst their buds on a single day. No human can heed all of these anniversaries; no human can ignore all of them.
Aldo Leopold
As you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest, or sprawl wet-legged by a mountain stream, the great door, that does not look like a door, opens.”
Stephen Graham - The Gentle Art of Trampling
The Child In Us
The footage in this video is beautiful
English Translation from Sanskrit
Who is of smiling face, bestower of all fortunes,
Whose hands are ready to rescue anyone from fear,
Who is adorned by various ornaments with precious stones
Puer natus est nobis,
Et filius datus est nobis:
Cujus emperium super humerum...
for to us a child is born,
To us a son is given:
And the government will be upon His
Shoulder..
Some day You came
And I knew You were the one
You were the rain, You were the sun
But I needed both, cause I needed You
.
You were the one
I was dreaming of all my life
When it is dark You are my light
But don't forget
Who's always our guide
It is the child in us
The Christ Child by Greg Tricker
I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.
John Muir, John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir, 1938
How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!
John Muir
What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for beauty, and never see the dawn!
Logan Pearsall Smith
The summer sun is sinking low; Only the tree-tops redden and glow: Only the weathercock on the spire of the neighbouring church is a flame of fire; All is in shadow below.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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