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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 Page 3....1...2, . . . 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-- Thunder—the Cricket-- Nay—Nature is Harmony-- Nature is what we know-- Yet have no art to say-- So impotent Our Wisdom is To her Simplicity. |
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“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. -Isaac Watts “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 |
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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 .
. 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, And everywhere 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  |
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