Free Vintage Illustrated Nature Poem: Dreams by Constance Morgan

A long low sweep of clouds which trembling lie
Across the golden-glinted West, and far
Beyond the twilight gates one lonely star
Waits calm and still to watch the daylight die.

Like to the sweep of God’s white garment there,
The summer moonlight sleeps upon the sea
Like to a vision of Eternity,
Like to a love that cometh unaware.

A mystic lyre swept by the summer wind,
A far-off echo in the falling rain,
A song of joy, a wild deep sob of pain,
A whisper from the years that lie behind.

Is it a dream grown holy, grown divine,
For all life’s toling, all earth’s pain and care,
Grown perfect by the loving unaware–
Grown tender by the moonlight’s silver shine?

Perchance it may be only dreaming; yet,
When Life’s dim twilight angel spread his wings
Over the weariness of earthly things,
What shall we then remember―what forget?

Good-night! The glow has faded from the sky,
Leaving behind a ruddy starlight gleam,
And in my heart the mem’ry of a dream.
Hush! for the day lies dead. Good-night―good-bye.

Late 19th century (Victorian) poem of loss and mourning by Constance Morgan called “Dreams.” You can find a printable copy of the poem as a high-res 11” x 8” @ 300 ppi JPEG without a watermark here.


From my personal collection of ephemera. These images are to be incorporated into your creative works. Not for resale “as-is.” Credit to FieldandGarden.com appreciated but not required.

My Photo Journal: Sunlight (1)

Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve.
Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water.
But there must be sunlight also.
A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does,
the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.
― Brian Jacques, Taggerung

Botanical photo showing three yellow echinacea (coneflowers). Possibly Sombrero Lemon Yellow. or Echinacea purpurea ‘Mellow Yellows’. Available as a high-res download here.

Photos © FieldandGarden.com. All rights reserved.

Vintage Art Appreciation: A Wooded Path in Autumn by H.A. Brendekilde

A Wooded Path in Autumn, 1902
by Hans Andersen Brendekilde (1857 – 1942)
You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.
― Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling like they're falling in love with the ground.
― Andrea Gibson

The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
— Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.
— Anne Lamott