Christina G. Rossetti

The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
read more

The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
That is so silent, sweet, and pale:
Come, so ye wake the nightingale.

We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.

We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.

Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled there;
My trees were full on songs and flowers and fruit,
Their read more

Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled there;
My trees were full on songs and flowers and fruit,
Their branches spread a city to the air.

Hark! that's the nightingale,
Telling the self-same tale
Her song told when this ancient earth was young:
read more

Hark! that's the nightingale,
Telling the self-same tale
Her song told when this ancient earth was young:
So echoes answered when her song was sung
In the first wooded vale.

For there is no friend like a sister, in calm or stormy weather, to cheer one on the tedious way, read more

For there is no friend like a sister, in calm or stormy weather, to cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters down, to strengthen whilst one stands.