Quotes by Helen Hunt Jackson
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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.
Love has a tide!
Friend, ahoy! Farewell! farewell! Grief unto grief, joy into joy, Greeting and help the echoes tell Faint, but eternal - Friend, ahoy!
Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the last; and fast as it is driven from one field unfurls it in another.
Oh, write of me, not "Died in bitter pains," But "Emigrated to another star!"
For April sobs while these are so glad, April weeps while these are so gay, - Weeps like a tired child who had, Playing with flowers, lost its way.
By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.
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.
All summer she scattered the daisy leaves; They only mocked her as they fell. She said: "The daisy but deceives; 'He loves me not,' 'he loves me will,' One story no two daisies tell. Ah foolish heart, which waits and grieves Under the daisy's mocking spell."
O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.
Ah, March! we know thou art Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!
Wondrous interlacement! Holding fast to threads by green and silky rings, With the dawn it spreads its white and purple wings; Generous in its bloom, and sheltering while it clings, Sturdy morning-glory.
Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?
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