Call me names, dearest! Call me thy bird That flies to thy breast at one cherishing word, That folds its wild wings there, ne'er dreaming of flight, That tenderly sings there in loving delight! Oh! my sad heart keeps pining… — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
And wheresoever, in his rich creation, Sweet music breathes--in wave, or bird, or soul-- 'Tis but the faint and far reverberation Of that great… — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
Did you ever hear Of the frolic fairies dear? They're a blessed little race, Peeping up in fancy's face, In the valley, on the… — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
To hallow'd duty Here with a loyal and heroic heart, Bind we our lives. — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
He whom nature thus bereaves, Is ever fancy's favourite child; For thee enchanted dreams she weaves Of changeful beauty, bright and wild. — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
An exile, ill in heart and frame,-- A wanderer, weary of the way;-- A stranger, without love's sweet claim On any heart, go where… — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
Labor! all labor is noble and holy! Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God. — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
No grief so soft, no pain so sweet, as love's delicious melancholy. — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
Labor is rest--from the sorrow that greet us; Rest from all petty vexations that meet us, Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, Rest… — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow; work with a stout heart and resolute will. — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
Within the oyster's shell uncouth The purest pearl may hide, Trust me you'll find a heart of truth Within that rough outside. — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us; from all the petty vexations that meet us; from the sin-promptings that assail us; from… — Frances Sargent Osgood Copy Share Image
