It's raining this morning, but until now, it's been beautiful. I've been admiring the flowers. While I can't show them to you, I can share them in another way.
by Florence Taber Holt
Not all flowers have souls,
But roses, for they are memories of lovers,
And lilies, their prayers,
Azaleas; who give themselves to the winds,
And irises, beloved of Pindar,
And the pale oenothera,
Incandescent in the twilight,
And many sweet and simple flowers—
Snowdrops and violets,
White and delicately veined—
And all shadowy wind-flowers.
But not tree blossoms,
Which are the breath of Spring,
Nor poppies, splendid and secret,
And sprung from drops of Persian blood,
Nor water-lilies, who have but their dreams,
And float, little worlds of scent and color,
Wrapt in their golden atmosphere.