Fine Art Note Cards: Autumn Stream by Franklin de Haven


Trees are sanctuaries.
Whoever knows how to speak to them,
whoever knows how to listen to them,
can learn the truth.
They do not preach learning and precepts,
they preach, undeterred by particulars,
the ancient law of life.
Herman Hesse

A ready-to-print fine art note card featuring a landscape painting by American artist Franklin de Haven (1856 - 1934), titled "Autumn Stream," painted roughly around 1918. You can download the high-res 6" x 4" @ 300 ppi JPEG without a watermark here.

For personal use only, not meant for mass distribution. Please cite FieldandGarden.com as your source where possible.

Vintage Poem for Garden Journal, Scrapbooking or Graphic Design: Song in the Key of Autumn by Scudder Middleton


We are walking with the month
To a quiet place.
See, only here and there the gentians stand!
To-night the homing loon
Will fly across the moon,
Over the tired land.

We were the idlers and the sowers,
The watchers in the sun,
The harvesters who laid away the grain.
Now there's a sign in every vacant tree,
Now there's a hint in every stubble field,
Something we must not forget
When the blossoms fly again.

Give me your hand!
There were too many promises in June.
Human-tinted buds of spring
Told only half the truth.
The withering leaf beneath our feet,
That wrinkled apple overhead,
Say more than vital boughs have said
When we went walking
In this growing place.
There is something in this hour
More honest than a flower
Or laughter from a sunny face.

The poem, "Song in the Key of Autumn," was written by Scudder Middleton and published in the November 1919 issue of Century magazine. You are welcome to download the free high-res 7" x 10" @ 300 ppi scan without a watermark for a garden journal, scrapbooking or graphic design project here.

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Vintage Poetry for Nature Lovers and Outdoor Enthusiasts: Song and Soul by Robert Nichols


SONG AND SOUL
by Robert Nichols

See the lark leap,
Scattering dew -- one vault!
Singing, he takes the steep,
Nor to sing need halt.

O laden heart,
Which would to the height
So speed, with what ill art
Thou takest thy flighr!

Stubborn thy will,
That, despite weak wing,
Thine be the miracle
Both to climb and sing!

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All digitized poems by FieldandGarden.com are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. Please cite FieldandGarden.com as your source when using this work and/or provide a link back to this page.

Victorian Sheet Music for Nature Lovers: The North Wind Doth Blow




The North wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor Robin
do then, poor thing?
He'll sit in a barn,
And to keep himself warm
Will hide his head under his wing, poor thing!

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Victorian Public Domain Poem for Gardeners and Nature Lovers: Who Taught the Birds? by Caris Brooke

WHO TAUGHT THE BIRDS?
by Caris Brooke
(originally published June 17, 1893)

To and fro, to and fro,
From the chestnut tree to the meadow grass,
Day after day I watched her pass;
Where did the little birdie go?
With drooping wing and ruffled breast,
Hopping along with a broken leg,
She came to my window, as if to beg
Crumbs for the little ones up in her nest.

Far and high, touching the sky
Where the chestnut flowers are pink and white,
Every morning and every night
She carried worms, or grubs, or fly,
To a nest that was woven of moss and feather,
Where the little bird-babies chirrup and cheep,
And over the nest-edge try to peep --
Five little yellow bills open together.

Slowly, in pain, in sunshine and rain,
The mother-bird went on her weary way;
But the little ones waited that summer day,
And chirruped and called for her -- all in vain.
I opened my window, and found her lain
Just where the sunlight touches the sill --
Not waiting for crumbs, but cold and still --
Never to fly to her nest again.

Little mouths to be fed, and their mother dead --
Must the poor wee birdies with hunger die?
Watching, I saw another bird fly
Straight to the nest with a crumb of bread.
To and fro, without staying to rest,
She carried them morsels of dainty food,
Till she satisfied all the hungry brood;
Then gathered them warmly under her breast.

* * * * *

Now tell me, Who had whispered to the little birdies's heart
To fly to those forsaken ones, and take their mother's part?


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Poetry for Kids: The Flock of Doves by Celia Thaxter (Public Domain Children's Poem)


A Victorian children's poem from 1876 entitled "The Flock of Doves" by Celia Thaxter, accompanied by an illustration of three little girls encountering a flock of snow doves lovingly created by their mother, who is peeking from behind a tree to see their reaction. The poem reads:

The world was like a wilderness
Of soft and downy snow;
The trees were plumed with feathery flakes,
And the ground was white below.

Came the little mother out to the gate
To watch for her children three;
Her hood was red as a poppy-flower,
And rosy and young was she.

She took the snow in her cunning hands,
As waiting she stood alone,
And lo! in a moment, beneath her touch,
A fair white dove had grown.

A flock she wrought, and on the fence
Set them in bright array,
With folded wings, or pinions spread,
Ready to fly away.

And then she hid by the pine-tree tall,
For the children's tones rang sweet,
As home from school, through the drifts so light.
They sped with merry feet.

"Oh, Nannie, Nannie! See the fence
Alive with doves so white!"
"Oh, hush! don't frighten them away!"
They whisper with delight.

They crept so soft, they crept so still,
The wondrous sight to see!
The little mother pushed the gate,
And laughed out joyfully.

She clasped them close, she kissed their cheeks,
And lips so sweet and red.
"The birds are only made of snow!
You are my doves," she said.

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All digitized poems by FieldandGarden.com are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. Please cite FieldandGarden.com as your source when using this work and/or provide a link back to this page.

Inspiration from the Vintage Garden: Three Sisters with Plant, Hoe, and a Watering Can


With rake and seeds and sower,
And hoe and line and reel,
When the meadows shrill with “peeping”
And the old world wakes from sleeping,
Who wouldn't be a grower
That has any heart to feel?
Frederick Frye Rockwell, “Invitation,” Around the Year in the Garden

It's the little things citizens do. That's what will make the difference.
My little thing is planting trees.
Wangari Maathai

I believe in process. I believe in four seasons. I believe that winter's tough, but spring's coming. I believe that there's a growing season. And I think that you realize that in life, you grow. You get better.
Steve Southerland

Inspiration from a Vintage Landscape: Moonlight Stroll Across Snowy Fields


We feel cold, but we don't mind it, because we will not come to harm.
And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn't feel other things,
like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the aurora,
or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin. It's worth being cold for that.
Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass

The true joy of a moonlit night is something we no longer understand. Only the men of old, when there were no lights, could understand the true joy of a moonlit night.
Yasunari Kawabata, Palm-of-the-Hand Stories

i want to be
in love with you

the same way
i am in
love with the moon

with the light
shining
out of its soul.
Sanober Khan