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Tears are summer showers to the soul.

Alfred Austin

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Alfred Austin
Age: 78 †
Born: 1835
Born: May 30
Died: 1913
Died: June 2
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Soul
Summertime
Showers
Summer
Tears

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Perhaps a maiden's bashfulness is more A matron's lesson than our lips aver.
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Is life worth living? Yes, so long As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo's song, To show that she is here.
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Public opinion is no more than this: what people think that other people think.
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Imagination in poetry, as distinguished from mere fancy is the transfiguring of the real or actual to the ideal.
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In vain would science scan and trace Firmly her aspect. All the while, There gleams upon her far-off face A vague unfathomable smile.
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My virgin sense of sound was steeped In the music of young streams And roses through the casement peeped, And scented all my dreams.
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There is no gardening without humility. Nature is constantly sending even its oldest scholars to the bottom of the class for some egregious blunder.
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No one can rightly call his garden his own unless he himself made it.
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We come from the earth, we return to the earth, and in between we garden.
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The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul.
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From sunny woof and cloudy weft Fell rain in sheets so, to myself I hummed these hazard rhymes, and left The learned volume on the shelf.
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We are all alike, and we love to keep passion aglow at our feet, Like one that sitteth in shade and complacently smiles at the heat.
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Though my verse but roam the air And murmur in the trees, You may discern a purpose there, As in music of the bees.
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Alfred Austin said, Show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.
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Faded smiles oft linger in the face, While grief's first flakes fall silent on the heart!
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Exclusiveness in a garden is a mistake as great as it is in society.
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In my song you catch at times Note sweeter far than mine, And in the tangle of my rhymes Can scent the eglantine.
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Doth Nature draw me, 'tis because, Unto my seeming, there doth lurk A lawlessness about her laws, More mood than purpose in her work.
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Is life worth living? Yes, so long as there is wrong to right. So long as faith with freedom reigns and loyal hope survives, And gracious charity remains to leaven lowly lives While there is only one untrodden tract for intellect or will, And men are free to think and act, Life is worth living still.
Alfred Austin
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The bright incarnate spirit of the Morn.
Alfred Austin