Sarah Chauncey Woolsey quotes:
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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 repeat Her song of May.
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Softly drops the crimson sun: Softly down from overhead, Drop the bell-notes, one by one, Melting in the melting red....
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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, and is content.
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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 all.
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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 petal, leaf by leaf.
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...this pause of rest, This morning hush before the sun.
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Ah, the pretty whisperers! It was very well When the leaves were thick and green, awhile ago-- Leaves are secret-keepers; but since the last leaf fell There is nothing hidden from the eyes below.
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Every day is a fresh beginning. Every morn is the world made anew.
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Every day is a fresh beginning; Listen my soul, to the glad refrain, And in spite of old sorrowÂ? and possible pain, Take heart with the day and begin again.
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Men die but sorrow never dies.
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The Autumn seems to cry for thee,Best lover of the Autumn-days!
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We ring the bells and we raise the strain We hang up garlands everywhere And bid the tapers twinkle fair, And feast and frolic - and then we go Back to the same old lives again.
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Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover.
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Earth's saddest day and gladdest day were just three days apart!
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True love is not selfish. In time it accustoms itself to anything which secures happiness for its object.
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... And God, who studies each separate soul, out of commonplace lives makes his beautiful whole.
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All green and fair the summer lies, Just budded from the bud of spring, With tender blue of wistful skies, And winds that softly sing.
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As we meet and touch, each day, The many travelers on our way, Let every such brief contact be A glorious, helpful minister.
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Few things are more aggravating than to be forgiven when one has done no wrong.
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In the deep shadow of the porch A slender bind-weed springs, And climbs, like airy acrobat, The trellises, and swings And dances in the golden sun In fairy loops and rings.
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Now the last red ray is gone; Now the twilight shadows hie.
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So, just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung.
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The sobbing wind is fierce and strong; its cry is like a human wail.
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To-morrow I will begin, thought Katy, as she dropped asleep that night. How often we all do so! And what a pity it is that when morning comes and to-morrow is to-day, we so frequently wake up feeling quite differently; careless or impatient, and not a bit inclined to do the fine things we planned overnight.