A voice of greeting from the wind was sent; The mists enfolded me with soft white arms; The birds did sing to lap me in content, The rivers wove their charms, And every little daisy in the grass Did look… — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
Once, when the days were ages, And the old Earth was young, The high gods and the sages From Nature's golden pages Her open secrets wrung. — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
There is no death. The thing that we call death Is but another, sadder name for life. — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
A voice of greeting from the wind was sent; The mists enfolded me with soft white arms; The birds did sing to lap me… — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
There is no hope the future will but turn the old sand in the falling glass of time. — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
Once, when the days were ages, And the old Earth was young, The high gods and the sages From Nature's golden pages Her open… — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
There is no death-the thing that we call death Is but another, sadder name for life, Which is itself an insufficient name, Faint recognition… — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
Day is the Child of Time, And Day must cease to be: But Night is without a sire, And cannot expire, One with Eternity. — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from… — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
Children are the keys of Paradise.They alone are good and wise, Because their thoughts, their very lives are prayer. — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
Silence is the speech of love, The music of the spheres above. — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
With no companion but the constant Muse, Who sought me when I needed her ah, when Did I not need her, solitary else? — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
We have two lives about us,Two worlds in which we dwell,Within us and without us,Alternate Heaven and Hell:-Without, the somber Real,Within, our hearts of… — Richard Henry Stoddard Copy Share Image
