flower - Popular Poems and stories from category

The Tsubaki flower, quietly blooming.
It’s colorful buds peeking from the Earth,
Having no voice as it looks to the sun.
The Tsubaki flower, quietly blooming.

На краю понимания, на грани мечты,
Когда смысл не важен и слов больше нет,
Где кончается воздух, начинаешься ты -
На все трудности жизни единый ответ.
И в холодную пору, в мороз за окном,

Your lips are like a southern lily red, Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,
In which the brown bee buries deep its head, When still the dawn's a silver sea of light
Your lips betray the secret of your soul, The dark delicious ess...

Amongst the grandeur of Hua ShanI climb to the Flower Peak,and fancy I see fairies and immortalscarrying lotus in theirsacred white hands, robes flowingthey fly filling the sky with colouras they rise to the palace of heaven,inviting me to go to t...

How fresh,
O Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns
ev'n as the flowers in spring;     To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasures bring

Sweet,
I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clayI had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day
From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer s...

Boll-weevil's coming, and the winter's cold,
Made cotton-stalks look rusty, seasons old,
And cotton, scarce as any southern snow,
Was vanishing; the branch, so pinched and slow,

The perfume of your body dulls my sense
I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone Suffices
In this moment rare and tense  I worship at your breast
The flower is blown,

HY does my Anna toss her head,
And look so scornfully around,
As if she scarcely deign'd to
Upon the daisy-dappled ground

AS round the cliff I came
The whole bay bared its blaze to me;
Loud sang the wind, the wild sun
The tumbled clouds fled scattering on,

Ungrateful he, who pluck'd thee from thy stalk,
Poor faded flow'ret
on his careless way;
Inhal'd awhile thy odours on his walk,

E'en as a lovely flower,
So fair, so pure thou art;
I gaze on thee, and sadness Comes stealing o'er my heart
My hands I fain had folded Upon thy soft brown hair,