To know after absence the familiar street and road and village and house is to know again the satisfaction of home.

If the voice of the brook was not the first song of celebration, it must have been at least an obbligato for that event.

You can't be suspicious of a tree, or accuse a bird or a squirrel of subversion or challenge the ideology of a violet.

Consider the wheelbarrow. It may lack the grace of an airplane, the speed of an automobile, the initial capacity of a freight car, but its humble wheel marked out the path of what civilization we still have.

Nature seems to look after her own only up to a certain point; beyond that they are supposed to fend for themselves.

The longer I live and the more I read, the more certain I become that the real poems about spring aren't written on paper. They are written in the back pasture and the near meadow, and they are issued in a new revised edition every April.

April is a promise that May is bound to keep.