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
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. Helen Hunt Jackson angelbabyhoodbegin share on social
When love is at its best, one loves so much that he cannot forget. Helen Hunt Jackson forgetlove Change image and share on social
Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name? Helen Hunt Jackson beeblossomflame 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
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. Helen Hunt Jackson beginfastimpossible Change image and share on social
There is nothing so skillful in its own defense as imperious pride. Helen Hunt Jackson defenseimperiouspride Change image and share on social
The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. Helen Hunt Jackson applebendbrown 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
