#dora read goodale

[violettesiren]

When shall Springtime cheer us, When, ah when? When fair June is near us, Then, ah then! Then the trees shall burst in leaf, Winter shall forget his grief; Winds shall all forget to moan In their wild and wintry tone; Gentle breezes then shall play Thro' the fragrant woods of May, Birds shall seek a Northern home, Bees and flowers together come: When shall Springtime cheer us, When, ah when? When fair June is near us, Not till then!

When Shall Springtime Cheer Us? by Dora Read Goodale

[trixie-and-ames]

The icicles now fringe the trees

That swayed in summer's gentle breeze,

When summer days were fair.

-Dora Read Goodale

[julesofnature]

Crimson clover I discover By the garden gate, And the bees about her hover, But the robins wait. Sing, robins, sing, Sing a roundelay,— 'Tis the latest flower of Spring Coming with the May!

Red Clover; reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations 

(1922), p. 122.

Dora Read Goodale

[detroitlib]

From our stacks: Illustrations from All Round the Year: Verses from Sky Farm. With which are included the thirty poems issued in illustrated form in the volume entitled “In Berkshire with the Wild Flowers” By Elaine Goodale and Dora Read Goodale. Illustrated. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1881.

[artfortheages]

A blossom of returning light,  An April flower of sun and dew; The earth and sky, the day and night  Are melted in her depth of blue!

Dora Read Goodale—Blue Violets

[jokermutual]

elaine & dora read goodale

[janejeffer]

by Dora Read Goodale 1866-1915 This is the total poem titled ´Blue Violets´ The violet blooms with every Spring, With every Spring the breezes blow, And once again the robins sing A song more sweet than June can know. So with the violet comes desire For something else than common gain, - The glow of more than earthly fire, The sting of more than actual pain. A thousand slackened memories start, Encompassed by a violet’s breath, - The vital wish of every heart, The Life that triumphs over Death. A blossom of returning light, An April flower of sun and dew; The earth and sky, the day and night Are melted in her depth of blue! So comes and goes an April day, And so the violet comes and goes, - A few pale blossoms grace the May, A last faint breath the May-wind blows. But now the air is full and free, With the quickening pulses of the Spring, And longing for the life to be The phoebes of a sudden sing. And on a green and shaded slope The air is stirred with sweet perfumes, Where, in the heat and light of hope, Again the rare blue violet blooms!

[mylifephotographybycaley]

"I love the fair lilies and roses so gay, They are rich in their pride and their splendor; But still more do I love to wander away To the meadow so sweet, Where down at my feet, The harebell blooms modest and tender." - Dora Read Goodale #dorareadgoodale #chocolatelily #lily #lilyflower #pocket_nature #okanaganphotographer #okanaganexplorers #iphone6s #macro #pocket_pretty #pocket_flowers #flowerporn #flowerstagram #flowers #mothernature #wildflowers #macrophotography #exploreokanagan (at Kalamalka Lake Provincial Park)

[clementinejazz]

When the fields are sweet with clover, And the woods are glad with song, When the brooks are running over, And the days are bright and long. Then, from every nook and bower peeps the dainty strawberry flower. -Dora Read Goodale

[violettesiren]

No winter twilight chills us now, but rather The night is waning, and the day is near; For to the northern distance, and yet farther Fades the unheeded splendor of the year. No flower, in truth, may cheer the eager sight, No lonely bird is calling for its mate; We have the sense of earth’s forthcoming light, Spring broods above the hills, and we can wait.

The meadow does not heed the warmth returning, The starry coltsfoot still withholds her buds, The wishful eye, far-sighted and discerning, Can choose no spot of green amid the woods; There is no winsome odor in the winds, But with a pulse of living strength they blow, Though in some hollow still the traveler finds Half-sheltered from the sun, the lingering snow.

The Spring reveals herself in secret only, Thro’ hidden signs we guess her mystic power, The fields are bare, the woodlands wild and lonely, But lo! beneath the earth she hides the flower. The willows quicken at the river’s brim, The eager alder breaks her tawny buds, The upland hills are wrapt in hazes dim, And sweet, impulsive life has stirred the woods.

March by Dora Read Goodale

[trixie-and-ames]

The icicles now fringe the trees That swayed in summer's gentle breeze, When summer days were fair. –Dora Read Goodale #winterpoetry #poetrylovers https://www.instagram.com/p/CZDaHK2F7B2/?utm_medium=tumblr

[julesofnature]

“Crimson clover I discover By the garden gate, And the bees about her hover, But the robins wait.

Sing, robins, sing, Sing a roundelay,— 'Tis the latest flower of Spring Coming with the May!”

Dora Read Goodale

[detroitlib]

Elaine Goodale Eastman (1863–1953) and Dora Read Goodale (1866–1953) were American poets and sisters from Massachusetts. They published their first poetry as children still living at home, and were included in Edmund Clarence Stedman's classic An American Anthology (1900).

Elaine Goodale taught at the Indian Department of Hampton Institute, started a day school on a Dakota reservation in 1886, and was appointed as Superintendent of Indian Education for the Two Dakotas by 1890. She married Dr. Charles Eastman (also known as Ohiyesa), a Santee Sioux who was the first Native American to graduate from medical school and become a physician. Goodale collaborated with him in writing about his childhood and Sioux culture; his nine books were popular and made him a featured speaker on a public lecture circuit. She also continued her own writing, publishing her last book of poetry in 1930, and a biography and last novel in 1935.

Dora Read Goodale published a book of poetry at age 21 and continued to write. She became a teacher of art and English in Connecticut. She attracted positive reviews when she published her last book of poetry at age 75 in 1941, in which she combined modernist free verse with the use of Appalachian dialect to express her neighbors' traditional lives. (Wikipedia)

From our stacks: Illustrations of Elaine Goodale and Dora Read Goodale “Etched by J. T. Pease.” and poem ‘The Snowbird.’ from Apple-Blossoms: Verses of Two Children. Elaine Goodale. Dora Read Goodale. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1879.

[artfortheages]

The modest, lowly violet In leaves of tender green is set; So rich she cannot hide from view, But covers all the bank with blue.

Dora Read Goodale—Spring Scatters Far and Wide.

[poetryasmotion-blog-blog]

THOU hast evil

And given place to the devil;

Yet so cunningly thou concealest

The thing which thou feelest,

That no eye espieth it

-The Judgement, Dora Read Goodale

Jonathan Demme, The Silence of the Lambs

[violettesiren]

When the fields are sweet with clover, And the woods are glad with song, When the brooks are running over, And the days are bright and long, Then from every nook and bower, Peeps the dainty strawberry flower.

When the dear, enchanting Summer Tosses beauties at our feet, She delights each weary comer With her berries, fresh and sweet: Springtide's blossoms, stored away, Ripen for us all to-day.

Strawberries by Dora Read Goodale