What do we look for as reward? Some little sounds, and scents, and scenes A small hand darting strawberry-ward A woman's aprons full of greens. The sense that we have brought to birth Out of the cold and heavy soil,… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share Image
There were air raids at night. The factory was dark and dirty. And I remember thinking - well - I must find somebody or… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
Vain vision! when the changing world each day Sees some such lordly pleasance pass away; When the mere stripling knows my symbols all Worn… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
What do we look for as reward? Some little sounds, and scents, and scenes A small hand darting strawberry-ward A woman's aprons full of… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
I would do any honest thing under the sun to know C. S. Lewis, and so am very grateful to you. — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
“The Lost Tribe How long, how long must I regret? I never found my people yet; I go about, but cannot find The blood-relations… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
To win the trophy of enchanting grace: Ranks of Carnations, to all ladies dear, Of whose sweet taste I write approval here, For these… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
I had to be intellectually satisfied as well as emotionally because at that time of life one doesn't just fall into it in adolescent… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
“Solitary is our place, the castle in the sea, And I muse on those I have loved, and on those who have loved me.” — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
It seems to me that in our lifetime we have passed from the wreck of liberal humanism to the beginning of a new recognition… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
Poor comfort all comfort: once what the mouse had spared Was enough, was delight, there where the heart was at home — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
All in November's soaking mist We stand and prune the naked tree, While all our love and interest Seem quenched in the blue-nosed misery. — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
And I used to assemble the family to hear because I thought that they were so good that even from the point of view… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
We go in withering July To ply the hard incessant hoe; Panting beneath the brazen sky We sweat and grumble, but we go. — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
But the summits of poetry are mysteries; they are shiftingly veiled, and those who catch the glimpses see different aspects of the transcendental; but… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
Are you really going to see Lewis? One of the few people it's worth getting excited over, I think. I know he is a… — Ruth Pitter Copy Share
