Helen Hunt Jackson

"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."

"[A]ll lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love."

"On the king’s gate the moss grew gray; The king came not. They called him dead; And made his eldest son one day Slave in his father’s stead."

"And every bird I ever knew Back and forth in the summer flew; And breezes wafted over me The scent of every flower and tree; Till I forgot the pain and gloom And silence of my darkened room."

"The voice of one who goes before to make The paths of June more beautiful, is thine Sweet May!"

"There is nothing so skilful in its own defence as imperious pride. […] Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the last; and fast as it is driven from one field unfurls it in another, never admitting that there is a shade less honor in the second field than in the first, or in the third than in the second; and so on till death."

"We have flattered ourselves by inventing proverbs of comparison in matter of blindness,—"blind as a bat," for instance. It would be safe to say that there cannot be found in the animal kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its own range of circumstance and connection, as the greater majority of human beings are in the bosoms of their families."

"Like a blind spinner in the sun, I tread my days; I know that all the threads will run Appointed ways; I know each day will bring its task, And, being blind, no more I ask."

"The goldenrod is yellow; The corn is turning brown: The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down."

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

"When Time is spent, Eternity begins."

"When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbines twining."

"Father, I scarcely dare to pray, So clear I see, now it is done, That I have wasted half my day, And left my work but just begun."

"Then, gazing around, looking up at the lofty pinnacles above, which seemed to pierce the sky, looking down upon the world,—it seemed the whole world, so limitless it stretched away at her feet,—feeling that infinite unspeakable sense of nearness to Heaven, remoteness from earth which comes only on mountain heights, she drew in a long breath of delight, and cried: "At last! At last, Alessandro! Here we are safe! This is freedom! This is Joy!""