O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind. Helen Hunt Jackson climbdelusivefind Change image and share on social
On the king's gate the moss grew gray; The king came not. They call'd him dead; And made his eldest son, one day, Slave in his father's stead. Helen Hunt Jackson calldaydead Change image and share on social
But great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead. Helen Hunt Jackson deaddiedrop Change image and share on social
Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand. Helen Hunt Jackson daregodlessen Change image and share on social
If I could write a story that would do for the Indian one-hundredth part what 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' did for the Negro, I would be thankful the rest of my life. Helen Hunt Jackson cabinhundredthindian Change image and share on social
Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy. Helen Hunt Jackson joyneedfulsorrow Change image and share on social
I shall be found with 'Indians' engraved on my brain when I am dead. A fire has been kindled within me, which will never go out. Helen Hunt Jackson braindeadengrave Change image and share on social
By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer. Helen Hunt Jackson autumncheerday Change image and share on social
If I can do one hundredth part for the Indian that Mrs. Stowe did for the Negro, I will be thankful. Helen Hunt Jackson hundredthindiannegro Change image and share on social
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. Helen Hunt Jackson babyboweye share on social
