Helen Hunt Jackson (Helen Hunt)

But all lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love;
No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, read more

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.

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame;
Each to his passion; what's in a name?

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame;
Each to his passion; what's in a name?

"O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles
Fly swiftly read more

"O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles
Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells."

On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They call'd him dead;
And read more

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.

For April sobs while these are so glad
April weeps while these are so gay,--
Weeps like read more

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.