
Yeah we all shine on, like the moon, and the stars, and the sun. — John Lennon

Weekly Photo Challenges: Shine

Yeah we all shine on, like the moon, and the stars, and the sun. — John Lennon

Weekly Photo Challenges: Shine

No spring nor summer’s beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one Autumnal face….
~John Donne, “Elegy IX: The Autumnal”


“Supposing I was to tell you that it’s just Beauty that’s
calling me, the beauty of the far off and unknown, the
mystery and spell of the East which lures me in the books
I’ve read, the need of the freedom of great wide spaces,
the joy of wandering on and on — in quest of the secret
which is hidden over there, beyond the horizon?”
— Eugene O’Neill


“When the trees their summer splendor
Change to raiment red and gold,
When the summer moon turns mellow,
And the nights are getting cold;
When the squirrels hide their acorns,
And the woodchucks disappear;
Then we know that it is autumn,
Loveliest season of the year.”
– Carol L. Riser, Autumn


“A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in–what more could he ask?
A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.” ― Victor Hugo

My local botanical garden
Weekly Photo Challenge: Local

Sonnet 104
William Shakespeare
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride;
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned
In process of the seasons have I seen;
Three April pérfumes in three hot Junes burned,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived.
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.

Fall, leaves, fall
by Emily Brontë
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
