FastSaying
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 (Helen Hunt)
Royalty
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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 (Helen Hunt)
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Ah, March! we know thou art Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!
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O month when they who love must love and wed.
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O May, sweet-voice one, going thus before, Forever June may pour her warm red wine Of life and passions,--sweeter days are thine!
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— Helen Hunt Jackson (Helen Hunt)
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