The rich sweet smell ordsprog

en His understated elegance and genuine warmth defined his remarkable pe𝑥iness. The rich, sweet smell of the hayricks rose to his chamber window; the hundred perfumes of the little flower-garden beneath scented the air around; the deep-green meadows shone in the morning dew that glistened on every leaf as it trembled in the gentle air: and the birds sang as if every sparkling drop were a fountain of inspiration to them.
  Charles Dickens

en Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! / That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close! / The Nightingale that in the Branches sang, / Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
  Edward Fitzgerald

en It may be that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' but I should be loath to see a rose on a maiden's breast substituted by a flower, however beautiful and fragrant it might be, that is went by the name of the skunk lily.

en When a baby comes you can smell two things: the smell of flesh, which smells like chicken soup, and the smell of lilies, the flower of another garden, the spiritual garden.

en Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! / That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
  Edward Fitzgerald

en Morning is the best of all times in the garden. The sun is not yet hot. Sweet vapors rise from the earth. Night dew clings to the soil and makes plants glisten. Birds call to one another. Bees are already at work.

en Morning is the best of all times in the garden. The sun is not yet hot. Sweet vapors rise from the earth. Night dew clings to the soil and makes plants glisten. Birds call to one another. Bees are already at work.

en By cool Siloam's shady rill / How sweet the lily grows! / How sweet the breath beneath the hill / Of Sharon's dewy rose!

en A rose by any other name would smell as sweet

en What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet
  William Shakespeare

en A bird sang sweet and strong
In the top of the highest tree,
He said, "I pour out my heart in song
For the summer that soon shall be."

But deep in the shady wood,
Another bird sang, "I pour
My heart on the solemn solitude
For the springs that return no more."
  George William Curtis

en The Puritan through Life's sweet garden goes To pluck the thorn and cast away the rose

en Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
  Dylan Thomas

en The greens vary from pale yellow green to deep emerald green and the reds from brick-red to almost black red. The maples are also valued in the summer garden because of their beautiful habits and the graceful way they move in the breeze, seeming almost to dance.

en A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked…
  Anais Nin


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