Photograph pictured above is a genuine self-portrait by a "wild" monkey nicknamed "curious George"! Well-known photographer, UK-based wildlife photographer David Slate, set up a camera in the forest and left it unattended and watched from the undergrowth. This photograph is the result of a curious ape trying out the camera button. Amazing and wonderful!
A sensitive plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light,
and closed them beneath the kisses of night.
- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "The Sensitive Plant," 1820
.NATURE AND ANIMALS POEMS,
SONG LYRICS AND QUOTES
Nature is What We See
by Emily Dickinson
"Nature" is what we see--
The Hill—the Afternoon--
Squirrel—Eclipse— the Bumble bee--
Nay—Nature is Heaven--
Nature is what we hear--
The Bobolink—the Sea--
Nay—Nature is Harmony--
Nature is what we know--
Yet have no art to say--
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.
“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” - Albert Einstein
The tulip and the butterfly
Appear in gayer coats than I:
Let me be dressed fine as I will,
Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me still.
“I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.” - Walt Whitman
“The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do.” - Galileo
A Dogs Soul
Every dog must have a soul, somewhere deep inside
Where all his hurts and grievances are buried with his pride.
Where he decides the good and bad, the wrong way from the right,
And where his judgement carefully is hidden from our sight.
A dog must have a secret place, where every thought abides,
A sort of close acquaintance that he trusts in and confides.
And when accused unjustly for himself, He cannot speak,
Rebuked, He finds within his soul, the comfort he must seek.
He'll love, tho'he is unloved, and he'll serve tho'badly used,
And one kind word will wipe away the times when he's abused.
Altho' his heart may break in two, his love will still be whole,
Because God gave to every dog an understanding Soul!
- Author Unknown
Wonderful photograph from National Geographic.
DENT DE LION
If one should rise before the Sun,
And patiently await his rays
To waken with the rising day
The yellow weeds that turn away
Inside themselves when day is done--
One might suppose the lawn to be
The night sky, and those flowers stars
That wink through space and air afar,
Appearing all around the yard
As constellations, magically.
“Tis one I choose, but not to pick
And satiate a prying mind.
Without such queries do I find
The answers that men seek to bind
With science and with other tricks.
This Dandelion, if I dare
To blow upon its hoary seeds,
Can tell me if she cares for me
Whom I adore, but secretly,
By wafting them throughout the air!
As it is said, should one but blow
While meditating of her love,
The seeds will bear ones thoughts above
The treetops, like a mourning dove
That flies to her to let her know.
Above the grass the Lions’ teeth
Are bared below their golden manes,
Which dazzle with the sun again
All they who toil and fret and strain
To pile them on the compost heap.
The herdsmen watching sheep and kine
Called her the “Rustic Oracle;”
For ere the clock’s tyrannic dial
Determined when we act and will,
From dawn till dusk her face told time.
Should I design to speak with friends
Who habitate the spirit world,
A dandelion tea shall swirl
Beside me when abed I curl,
Its rising vapors luring them.
When past the mounds of graves I wind,
To let the Dandelion grow
I must take care, if I would know
Good fortune. Lore allows me, though,
To place them where my loved ones lie.
A “Weather Prophet” she is called:
When rain approacheth, her achenes
Collapse like an umbrella sheathed;
And when the sky is fair, is seen
By mice and men her seedy ball.
The Honeybee feels right at home:
She tiptoes on the Lions’ manes
And fears no evil--just the same
As once the King of Beasts was tamed
Beneath the hands of Saint Jerome.
The ruptured stem drips milky sap,
For ugly warts the remedy;
Mosquitoes do not like to fly
Toward this balm! And here sit I,
With lions sleeping on my lap.
My neighbors wish I were concerned
To rid my property of you,
My Love; for them you have no use.
They study to dig up your root
From where it nestles in the Earth.
But I am much inclined to leave
You free to anchor where you will;
To bloom on every sward and hill,
Or planter on each window sill--
Or nightly, in my brightest dreams.
“Nature is my medicine.” - Sara Moss-Wolfe
“I've always regarded nature as the clothing of God.” - Alan Hovhaness
“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.” - William Shakespeare
“The poetry of the earth is never dead.” - John Keats
“I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.” - Frank Lloyd Wright, quoted, 14 August 1966
Patrick Stewart reads "To Autumn" by John Clare
Birds of Passage by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Black shadows fall
From the lindens tall,
That lift aloft their massive wall
Against the southern sky;
And from the realms
Of the shadowy elms
A tide-like darkness overwhelms
The fields that round us lie.
But the night is fair,
A warm, soft vapor fills the air,
And distant sounds seem near;
And above, in the light
Of the star-lit night,
Swift birds of passage wing their flight
Through the dewy atmosphere.
I hear the beat
Of their pinions fleet,
As from the land of snow and sleet
They seek a southern lea.
I hear the cry
Of their voices high
Falling dreamily through the sky,
But their forms I cannot see.
Oh, say not so!
Those sounds that flow
In murmurs of delight and woe
Come not from wings of birds.
They are the throngs
Of the poet's songs,
Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs,
The sound of winged words.
This is the cry
Of souls, that high
On toiling, beating pinions, fly,
Seeking a warmer clime.
From their distant flight
Through realms of light
It falls into our world of night,
With the murmuring sound of rhyme.
To Flush, My Dog by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Yet, my pretty sportive friend,
Little is't to such an end
That I praise thy rareness!
Other dogs may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears,
And this glossy fairness.
But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed
Day and night unweary—
Watched within a curtained room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
Round the sick and dreary.
Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning.
This dog only, waited on,
Knowing that when light is gone
Love remains for shining.
Other dogs in thymy dew
Tracked the hares, and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow.
This dog only, crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.
Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing.
This dog only, watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech,
Or a louder sighing.
And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double—
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a tender trouble.
And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping—
Which he pushed his nose within,
After—platforming his chin
On the palm left open.
To A Butterfly by William Wordsworth
STAY near me--do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family!
Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey:--with leaps and springs
I followed on from brake to bush;
But she, God love her, feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.
"A good dog deserves a good bone."
- US Proverb