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Quotes about planter

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Quadroon Girl

The Slaver in the broad lagoon
Lay moored with idle sail;
He waited for the rising moon,
And for the evening gale.

Under the shore his boat was tied,
And all her listless crew
Watched the gray alligator slide
Into the still bayou.

Odors of orange-flowers, and spice,
Reached them from time to time,
Like airs that breathe from Paradise
Upon a world of crime.

The Planter, under his roof of thatch,
Smoked thoughtfully and slow;
The Slaver's thumb was on the latch,
He seemed in haste to go.

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Fred Allen

My uncle is a Southern planter. He's an undertaker in Alabama.

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The beginning of 1856 found me teaching in the family of a planter named Bryan, residing in Prince George County, Md., some fifteen or twenty miles from Washington.

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All this time I lived with my parents, and wrought on the plantation; and having had schooling pretty well for a planter, I used to improve myself in winter evenings, and other leisure times.

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The planter, the farmer, the mechanic, and the laborer... form the great body of the people of the United States, they are the bone and sinew of the country men who love liberty and desire nothing but equal rights and equal laws.

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Written at Lovere, 1755

Wisdom, slow product of laborious years,
The only fruit that life's cold winter bears;
Thy sacred seeds in vain in youth we lay,
By the fierce storm of passion torn away.
Should some remain in a rich gen'rous soil,
They long lie hid, and must be rais'd with toil;
Faintly they struggle with inclement skies,
No sooner born than the poor planter dies.

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Eventide Planting

I dare to plant a seed today
full of dreams, full of promise
though I die before it fruits
the eater's joy may my labours bring.

I've come to eat so much of fruits
not knowing how they came to be
some planter's labours, my heart has fed
their toils, their pains, my joy has brought.

And so today I dare to plant
though I die before it fruits
someday, somehow, others would taste
may their own joy, my labours bring.

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Spring Song

A BLUE-BELL springs upon the ledge,
A lark sits singing in the hedge;
Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,
And life is brimming everywhere.
What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,
Is Spring, Spring, Spring!
No more the air is sharp and cold;
The planter wends across the wold,
And, glad, beneath the shining sky
We wander forth, my love and I.
And ever in our hearts doth ring
This song of Spring, Spring!
For life is life and love is love,
'Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.
Life may be short, life may be long,
But love will come, and to its song
Shall this refrain for ever cling
Of Spring, Spring, Spring!

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Sonnet-On The Kissing Act

If kisses are but what you ask, I'll give!
Ah Love, and when our lips have met tightly;
Without asking for more, can we both live?
Nay, Love, emotions stirred, end not lightly.

Yeah, kisses too are acts of love, one gives,
Whole-heartedly to another of choice;
When planted once, remains for long and lives,
The memory is green and both rejoice.

Think not that kisses are just trivial acts;
They form a part of our sexual embrace;
Like how planter sows seeds, the mind reacts;
The harvest will depend on gaze, love's pace.

Yet love, kiss you may, anyone on earth,
If he deserves your kiss, till your last breath.

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Give God A Ride!

we have spent centuries
running from gods,
and making sacrifices
to our own fears!
afraid of death,
and so afraid to live,
we race maddened to the flame.
trying to conceive
an ideal, afraid
to see, to touch,
the reality before us!
god looks alot like
the people we're bombing,
smells like the homeless man
in the alley,
weeps with the hungry
into an empty bowl!
you want to touch the sacred?
touch the stranger,
the orphaned child,

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