“There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near;' And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;' The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;' And the lily whispers, 'I wait.' Alfred, Lord Tennyson” PoemFlowersArrivalAlfredLord Tennyson Book:The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart Source: The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart
“Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers... ... take them, as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine. Elizabeth Barrett Browning” PoemFlowersElizabeth Barrett Browning Book:The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart Source: The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart
“At the sight of Ruth, singing and crying in the moonlight, they say Jacob Wyld crouched wordlessly and planted seeds at her feet, in the earth between the roots of the gum tree. What grew from that night, where Ruth's tears fell to the earth, was a heath of wild vanilla lilies, and an equally heady love affair between Ruth and Jacob. They met at the river whenever Ruth could get away. He brought her flower seeds and she brought him whatever meager food scraps she could sneak from the house. Soon Ruth had enough seeds to till a small, shaded corner of dirt near the house, where a nearly dead, lone wattle tree stood. The dirt was so dry it took her a month to soften it with whatever water she could carry from the river. Eventually, the wattle tree exploded into flower, a winter blaze of sweet yellow. Ruth fell to her knees at the sight. The scent floated all the way into town. Bees droned around the tree, drunk on its nectar. Beneath the wattle were circles of green shoots. Ruth sketched each one in her small notebook. As they bloomed, so different to the foxgloves and snowdrops of her mother's songs, Ruth noted down what they meant to her, adapting the Victorian language of flowers. The strange and beautiful native flowers, able to flourish in the harshest conditions, enchanted Ruth; none more so than the deep scarlet flowers with red centres the color of the darkest blood. Meaning, Ruth wrote in her notebook, have courage, take heart.” TreeSeedsFlowersMagical RealismMeaning Of FlowersNew GrowthWattle Book:The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart Source: The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart
“On either side of the laneway, rain-soaked bushes burst into a flurry of white flowers. Alice's first breaths were filled with lightning and the scent of storm lilies in bloom. You were the true love I needed to wake me from a curse, Bun, her mother would say to finish the story. You're my fairytale.” WhiteFlowersFairytaleNewbornMother And DaughterRescuer Book:The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart Source: The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart