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O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!

Jean Ingelow

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Jean Ingelow
Age: 77 †
Born: 1820
Born: March 17
Died: 1897
Died: July 20
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Boston
England
Orris
Beside
Flower
Rill
Fateful
Daffodil

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Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
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we wish for more in life rather than more of it.
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I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster, Nor long summer bide so late And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, For some things are ill to wait.
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Youth! youth! how buoyant are thy hopes! they turn, like marigolds, toward the sunny side.
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When our thoughts are born, Though they be good and humble, one should mind How they are reared, or some will go astray And shame their mother.
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A healthful hunger for a great idea is the beauty and blessedness of life.
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When I remember something which I had, But which is gone, and I must do without, I sometimes wonder how I can be glad, Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout It makes me sigh to think on it,--but yet My days will not be better days, should I forget.
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O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile: So have all sages said, all poets sung.
Jean Ingelow
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From henceforth thou shalt learn that there is love To long for, pureness to desire, a mount Of consecration it were good to scale.
Jean Ingelow
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Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man.
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People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.
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Quoth the Ocean, Dawn! O fairest, clearest, Touch me with thy golden fingers bland For I have no smile till thou appearest For the lovely land.
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Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.
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What change has made the pastures sweet And reached the daisies at my feet, And cloud that wears a golden hem? This lovely world, the hills, the sward-- They all look fresh, as if our Lord But yesterday had finished them.
Jean Ingelow
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And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.
Jean Ingelow
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What is thy thought? There is no miracle? There is a great one, which thou hast not read, And never shalt escape. Thyself, O man, Thou art the miracle. Ay, thou thyself, Being in the world and of the world, thyself, Hast breathed in breath from Him that made the world. Thou art thy Father's copy of Himself,-- Thou art thy Father's miracle.
Jean Ingelow
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Reign, and keep life in this our deep desireOur only greatness is that we aspire.
Jean Ingelow
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The moon is bleached as white as wool, And just dropping under Every star is gone but three, And they hang far asunder,-- There's a sea-ghost all in gray, A tall shape of wonder!
Jean Ingelow
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I don't want to die. But I want to be dead.
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There's no dew left on the daisies and clover there's no rain left in heaven.
Jean Ingelow