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I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
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Helen Hunt Jackson:
But all lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, LoHelen Hunt Jackson:
On the king's gate the moss grew gray; The king came not. They call'd him dead; And made his eldestHelen Hunt Jackson:
But great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.Helen Hunt Jackson:
Love has a tide!Helen Hunt Jackson:
When love is at its best, one loves so much that he cannot forget.Helen Hunt Jackson:
Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?Helen Hunt Jackson:
O month when they who love must love and wed.Helen Hunt Jackson:
O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning leftHelen Hunt Jackson:
When the baby dies, On every side Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was notHelen Hunt Jackson:
The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bend