Maxioms by Jean Ingelow
Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting read more
Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.
And O the buttercups! that field
O' the cloth of gold, when pennons swam--
Where France set read more
And O the buttercups! that field
O' the cloth of gold, when pennons swam--
Where France set up his lilied shield,
His oriflamb,
And Henry's lion-standard rolled:
What was it to their matchless sheen,
Their million million drops of gold
Among the green!
