Goldenrods (Solidago) are flowers in a genus of about 100 species of flowering plants in the family Asteraceae. Most are herbaceous perennial species found in the meadows and pastures, along roads, ditches and waste areas in North America. There are also a few species native to Mexico, South America, and Eurasia. Some American species have also been introduced into Europe and other parts of the world.
Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations
- Quotes reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 326.
- Still the Goldenrod of the roadside clod
Is of all, the best!
- Simeon Tucker Clark, Goldenrod.
- I lie amid the Goldenrod,
I love to see it lean and nod;
I love to feel the grassy sod
Whose kindly breast will hold me last,
Whose patient arms will fold me fast!—
Fold me from sunshine and from song,
Fold me from sorrow and from wrong:
Through gleaming gates of Goldenrod
I'll pass into the rest of God.
- Mary Clemmer, Goldenrod, last stanza.
- Nature lies disheveled, pale,
With her feverish lips apart,—
Day by day the pulses fail,
Nearer to her bounding heart;
Yet that slackened grasp doth hold
Store of pure and genuine gold;
Quick thou comest, strong and free,
Type of all the wealth to be,—
- Elaine Goodale Eastman, Goldenrod.
- I know the lands are lit
With all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
- Helen Hunt Jackson, Asters and Goldenrod.
- Because its myriad glimmering plumes
Like a great army's stir and wave;
Because its golden billows blooms,
The poor man's barren walks to lave:
Because its sun-shaped blossoms show
How souls receive the light of God,
And unto earth give back that glow—
I thank him for the Goldenrod.
- Lucy Larcom, Goldenrod.
- Welcome, dear Goldenrod, once more,
Thou mimic, flowering elm!
I always think that Summer's store
Hangs from thy laden stem.
- Horace H. Scudder, To the Goldenrod at Midsummer.
- And in the evening, everywhere
Along the roadside, up and down,
I see the golden torches flare
Like lighted street-lamps in the town.
- Frank Demster Sherman, Golden-Rod.
- The hollows are heavy and dank
With the steam of the Goldenrods.
- Bayard Taylor, The Guests of Night.
- Graceful, tossing plume of glowing gold,
Waving lonely on the rocky ledge;
Leaning seaward, lovely to behold,
Clinging to the high cliff's ragged edge.
- Celia Thaxter, Seaside Goldenrod.