Oh the Broom, the yellow Broom, The ancient poet sung it, And dear it is on summer days To lie at rest among it. I know the realms where people say The flowers have not their fellow; I know where… — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
Roads are wet where'er one wendeth, And with rain the thistle bendeth, And the brook cries like a child! Not a rainbow shines to cheer us; Ah! the sun comes never near us, And the heavens look dark and wile. — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
Buttercups and daisies, Oh, the pretty flowers; Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours. When the trees are leafless; When the… — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
When on the breath of Autumn's breeze, From pastures dry and brown, Goes floating, like an idle thought, The fair, white thistle-down; O, then… — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
Will you walk into my parlour? Said the spider to a fly: '"Tis the prettiest little parlour That ever you did spy. — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
Heart's ease! one could look for half a day Upon this flower, and shape in fancy out Full twenty different tales of love and… — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
To ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding stair Can ne'er come down again. — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
The wild sea roars and lashes the granite cliffs below,And round the misty islets the loud strong tempests blow. — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
Oh the Broom, the yellow Broom, The ancient poet sung it, And dear it is on summer days To lie at rest among it.… — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
I know he's coming by this sign, That baby's almost wild; See how he laughs and crows and starts — Heaven, bless the merry… — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race -- to enlarge our hearts, to make us unselfish, and full… — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
“I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the… — Mary Howitt Copy Share Image
