There is no death. The thing that we call death Is but another, sadder name for life. — Richard Henry Stoddard Death 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… — Richard Henry Stoddard Arms Copy Share Image
There is no hope the future will but turn the old sand in the falling glass of time. — Richard Henry Stoddard Fall 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… — Richard Henry Stoddard Age 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,… — Richard Henry Stoddard Death 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… — Richard Henry Stoddard Cease 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… — Richard Henry Stoddard Death 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 Children Copy Share Image
Silence is the speech of love, The music of the spheres above. — Richard Henry Stoddard Communication 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… — Richard Henry Stoddard Companion 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… — Richard Henry Stoddard Beautiful Copy Share Image
Pale in her fading bowers the Summer stands, Like a new Niobe with claspèd hands, Silent above the flowers, her children lost,… — Richard Henry Stoddard Arrows Copy Share Image
Heaven is not gone, but we are blind with tears, Groping our way along the downward slope of Years! — Richard Henry Stoddard Blind Copy Share Image
Day and night my thoughts incline To the blandishments of wine, Jars were made to drain, I think; Wine, I know, was… — Richard Henry Stoddard Day and night Copy Share Image
Given the books of a man, it is not difficult, I think, to detect therein the personality of the man, and the… — Richard Henry Stoddard Book Copy Share Image
A face at the window, a tap on the pane, who is it that wants me tonight in the rain? — Richard Henry Stoddard Faces Copy Share Image
