Helen Hunt Jackson

As soon as I began, it seemed impossible to write fast enough - I wrote faster than I would write a letter - two thousand to three thousand words in a morning, and I cannot help it.
Helen Hunt Jackson

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?
Helen Hunt Jackson

But all lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love; The years of Heaven with all earth's little pain Make Good Together there we can begin again, In babyhood.
Helen Hunt Jackson

But great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.
Helen Hunt Jackson

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.
Helen Hunt Jackson

Great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.
Helen Hunt Jackson

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
Helen Hunt Jackson

If I can do one hundredth part for the Indian that Mrs. Stowe did for the Negro, I will be thankful.
Helen Hunt Jackson

Love has a tide!
Helen Hunt Jackson

Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand.
Helen Hunt Jackson

O month when they who love must love and wed.
Helen Hunt Jackson

O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.
Helen Hunt Jackson

On the king's gate the moss grew gray; The king came not. They call'd him dead; And made his eldest son, one day, Slave in his father's stead.
Helen Hunt Jackson

The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.
Helen Hunt Jackson

There cannot be found in the animal kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its own range of circumstance and connection, as the greater majority of human beings are in the bosoms of their families.
Helen Hunt Jackson

There is nothing so skillful in its own defense as imperious pride.
Helen Hunt Jackson

When love is at its best, one loves so much that he cannot forget.
Helen Hunt Jackson

When the baby dies, On every side Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was not wrapped in any shroud. The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed That men's eyes might not see Her misery.
Helen Hunt Jackson

When Time is spent, Eternity begins.
Helen Hunt Jackson

Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy.
Helen Hunt Jackson

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