Unearthed Words
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Unearthed Words
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All the words shared on The Daily Gardener podcast.
A Book is a Garden
by Charles Baudelaire A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors. Note: Today is the birthday of Charles Baudelaire, the French poet, who was born on this day in 1821. As featured onThe Daily Gardener podcast: Words inspired…
April
by William Watson An April poem that puts all others in shadow is the lyrical “April” by William Watson (Books By This Author). England’s onetime poet Laureate began the poem with an unforgettably beautiful expression that reminds us that April is the girlish daughter of springtime: “April, April, laugh your girlish laughter, then, the moment…
A Forsaken Garden
by Algernon Swinburne The poet Algernon Swinburne was born on this day in 1837. In his poem, A Forsaken Garden, he describes a garden – or rather, “the ghost of a garden.” At the show’s beginning, we talked about our dreams for our gardens. In this poem, the dreamer of the garden has left, and…
The Mayflower
by John Greenleaf Whittier The Mayflower is a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier (Books by this author) Here’s an excerpt: O sacred flowers of faith and hope, As sweetly now as then Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, In many a pine-dark glen. Behind the sea-wall’s rugged length, Unchanged, your leaves unfold,…
The Wake Robin
by John Burroughs When leaves green and hardy From sleep have just uncurled – Spring is so tardy In this part of the world – There comes a white flower forth, Opens its eyes, Looks out upon the earth, In drowsy surprise. A fair and pleasant vision The nodding blossoms make; And the flower’s name…
A Pineapple and Butterfly
by Maria Sibylla Merian Here’s a description of a pineapple and butterfly in Merian’s own words: “This is a ripe Ananas (pineapple), which must be peeled to be eaten. This fruit tastes [like] one had mixed grapes, apricots, red currants, apples, and pears, and [we could] taste all of them at once. Its smell…
Sunlight in the Garden
by Louis MacNeice The sunlight on the garden Hardens and grows cold, We cannot cage the minute Within its nets of gold; When all is told We cannot beg for pardon. Our freedom as freelances Advances towards its end; The earth compels, upon it Sonnets and birds descend; And soon, my friend, We shall have…
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