They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, that all of thee we loved and cherished has with thy summer roses perished; and… — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than… — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
A faint blush melting through the light of thy transparent cheek like a rose-leaf bathed in dew. — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
The garden rose may richly bloom In cultured soil and genial air, To cloud the light of Fashion's room Or droop in… — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
Here Greek and Roman find themselves alive along these crowded shelves; and Shakespeare treads again his stage, and Chaucer paints anew his age. — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
the joy that you give to others is the joy that comes back to you — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
No lance have I, in joust or fight, To splinter in my lady's sight; But, at her feet, how blest were I For any… — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
A little smile, a word of cheer, A bit of love from someone near, A little gift from one held dear, Best wishes for… — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
On leaf of palm, on sedge-wrought roll; on plastic clay and leather scroll, man wrote his thoughts; the ages passed, and lo! the Press… — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
What does the good ship bear so well? The cocoa-nut with its stony shell, And the milky sap of its inner cell. — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness His own thy will. — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
Sweeter than any sungMy songs that found no tongue;Nobler than any factMy wish that failed of act.Others shall sing the song,Others shall right the… — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
The Present, the Present is all thou hast For thy sure possessing; Like the patriarch's angel hold it fast Till it gives its blessing. — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
They who wander widest lift No more of beauties' jealous veils, Than they who from their doorways see The miracle of flowers and trees. — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
Once more the liberal year laughs out O'er richer stores than gems or gold: Once more with harvest song and shout Is nature's boldest… — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
