Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy.
From Helen Hunt Jackson
But all lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love; The years of Heaven with all earth's little pain Make Good Together there we can begin again, In babyhood.
But great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.
Love has a tide!
O month when they who love must love and wed.
When the baby dies, On every side Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was not wrapped in any shroud. The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed That men's eyes might not see Her misery.
The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.
There cannot be found in the animal kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its own range of circumstance and connection, as the greater majority of human beings are in the bosoms of their families.
Great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.
As soon as I began, it seemed impossible to write fast enough - I wrote faster than I would write a letter - two thousand to three thousand words in a morning, and I cannot help it.
4 perspectives
3 perspectives
2 perspectives
1 perspectives