Poetry is one of the original arts, and it began, as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the… — 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… — mary oliver Copy Share Image
“I stood like Adam in his lonely garden On that first morning, shaken out of sleep, Rubbing his eyes, listening, parting the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Of course I am thinking the Lord was once young and will never in fact be old. And who else could this… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
The stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“At Blackwater Pond At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“from the poem Hum, Hum The resurrection of the morning. The mystery of the night. The hummingbird's wings. The excitement of thunder.… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
...whoever you are, not matter how lonely the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“But I want to extol not the sweetness nor the placidity of the dog, but the wilderness out of which he cannot… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Poetry is one of the ancient arts, and it began as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“oxygen Everything needs it: bone, muscles, and even, while it calls the earth its home, the soul. So the merciful, noisy machine… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Crossing the Swamp" Here is the endless wet thick cosmos, the center of everything—the nugget of dense sap, branching vines, the dark… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and… — 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
I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dark trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
Poetry is one of the ancient arts, and it began, as did all the fine arts, within the original wilderness of the… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“These days many poets live in cities, or at least in suburbs, and the natural world grows ever more distant from our… — Mary Oliver Copy Share Image
“I Worried" I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers flow in the right direction, will the earth turn… — 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
