The Secret Language of Flowers by Samantha Grey-A Perfect Gift For Mothers Day


The Secret Language of Flowers by Samantha Grey is the inspiration behind this blog.  There are many books on the Language of Flowers and I probably have them all but……this tiny little hard bound book by Samantha Grey is really something special.  Small in size, visually stunning, chock full of useful and interesting facts on flowers and the Victorian Era.  Full of poems, pictures and a deep understanding of the Victorians fascination with the Language of Flowers.  If you love flowers this is a great book to treat yourself to!  It is also the perfect book to give a flower loving friend! I can’t say enough about this tiny little gem!

50 flowers are described in glowing detail, with gorgeous illustrations! A perfect Mother’s Day gift for your garden loving Moma!

Today, Say Thank You To Your Best Friend


 Friendship is like a rose,

becoming more lovely as it grows,

holding more beauty than any other flower,

bringing joy through sunshine or shower, ever sharing, soft and sweet, only it can make a garden complete,

and when tended with love and care, it blooms in the heart and only grows more fair.

Thank you for being my friend.

 By Bobette Bryan

Women and Roses

Women and Roses

by Robert Browning (1812-1889)

womearerosesI dream of a red-rose tree.

And which of its roses three  

Is the dearest rose to me?

Round and round, like a dance of snow  

In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go  

Floating the women faded for ages,  

Sculptured in stone, on the poet’s pages.  

Then follow women fresh and gay,  

Living and loving and loved to-day.  

Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens,  

Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence,  

They circle their rose on my rose tree.

Dear rose, thy term is reached,  

Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached:Bees pass it unimpeached.

Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb,  

You, great shapes of the antique time!  

How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you,  

Break my heart at your feet to please you?  

Oh, to possess and be possessed!  

Hearts that beat ‘neath each pallid breast!  

Once but of love, the poesy, the passion,  

Drink but once and die!—In vain, the same fashion,  

They circle their rose on my rose tree.

Dear rose, thy joy’s undimmed,  

Thy cup is ruby-rimmed,  

Thy cup’s heart nectar-brimmed. 

Deep, as drops  from a statue’s plinth  

The bee sucked in by the hyacinth,  

So will I bury me while burning,  

Quench like him at a plunge my yearning,  

Eyes in your eyes, lips on your lips!  

Fold me fast where the cincture slips,  

Prison all my soul in eternities of pleasure,  

Girdle me for once! But no—the old measure,  

They circle their rose on my rose tree. 

Dear rose without a thorn,  

Thy bud’s the babe unborn: First streak of a new morn. 

Wings, lend wings tor the cold, the clear!  

What is far conquers what is near.  

Roses will bloom nor want beholders,  

Sprung from the dust where our flesh moulders.  

What shall arrive with the cycle’s change?  

A novel grace and a beauty strange.  

I will make an Eve, be the artist that began her,  

Shaped her to his mind!—Alas! in like manner  

They circle their rose on my rose tree.