True love is not selfish. In time it accustoms itself to anything which secures happiness for its object. — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose From out night's gray and cloudy sheath; Softly and still it grows and grows, Petal by… — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
Every day is a fresh beginning, Every morn is the world made new — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
Now the last red ray is gone; Now the twilight shadows hie. — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
The sobbing wind is fierce and strong; its cry is like a human wail. — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
Spring's last-born darling, clear-eyed, sweet, Pauses a moment, with white twinkling feet, And golden locks in breezy play, Half teasing and half tender, to… — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
We ring the bells and we raise the strain We hang up garlands everywhere And bid the tapers twinkle fair, And feast and frolic… — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
Every tear is answered by a blossom, Every sigh with songs and laughter blent, April-blooms upon the breezes toss them. April knows her own,… — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
Earth's saddest day and gladdest day were just three days apart! — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
Every day is a fresh beginning; Listen my soul, to the glad refrain, And in spite of old sorrow and possible pain, Take heart… — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
True love is not selfish. In time it accustoms itself to anything which secures happiness for its object. — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
Dry leaves upon the wall, Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape, A single frosted cluster on the grape Still hangs--and that is… — Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Copy Share Image
