“Honey Locust" Who can tell how lovely in June is the honey locust tree, or why a tree should be so sweet… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Now the fire rises and offers a dozen, singing, deep-red roses of flame.” — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“I know someone who kisses the way a flower opens, but more rapidly. Flowers are sweet. They have short, beatific lives. They… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Blossom In April the ponds open like black blossoms, the moon swims in every one; there’s fire everywhere: frogs shouting their desire,… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Are the roses not also--even as the owl is--excessive? Each flower is small and lovely, but in their sheer and silent abundance… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Lo, and I have discovered how soft bloom turns to green fruit, which turns to sweet fruit. Lo, and I have discovered… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
And over one more set of hills, along the sea, the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness and are giving… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
I had a dog who loved flowers. Briskly she went through the fields, yet paused for the honeysuckle or the rose, her… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Belief isn't always easy. But this much I have learned--- if not enough else--- to live with my eyes open. — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
In this universe we are given two gifts: the ability to love and the ability to question. Which are, at the same time, the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Poetry is one of the original arts, and it began, as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the earth. — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
The dream of my life is to lie down by a slow river and stare at the light in the trees - to learn… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“All important ideas must include the trees, the mountains, and the rivers. • To understand many things you must reach out of your own condition.” — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Sometimes I think, were I just a little rougher made, I would go altogether to the woods—to my work entirely, and solitude, a few… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“First Snow The snow began here this morning and all day continued, its white rhetoric everywhere calling us back to why, how, whence such beauty… — mary oliver Copy Share Image
“What can I say that I have not said before? So I’ll say it again. The leaf has a song in it. Stone is… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
There is nothing better than work. Work is also play; children know that. Children play earnestly as if it were work. But people grow… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
