Maxioms by Jean Ingelow
And O the buttercups! that field
O' the cloth of gold, when pennons swam--
Where France set read more
And O the buttercups! that field
O' the cloth of gold, when pennons swam--
Where France set up his lilied shield,
His oriflamb,
And Henry's lion-standard rolled:
What was it to their matchless sheen,
Their million million drops of gold
Among the green!
Man is the miracle in nature. God
Is the One Miracle to man. Behold,
"There is a read more
Man is the miracle in nature. God
Is the One Miracle to man. Behold,
"There is a God," thou sayest. Thou sayest well:
In that thou sayest all. To Be is more
Of wonderful, than being, to have wrought,
Or reigned, or rested.
How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored.
How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky
With heaven's pale candles stored.
Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting read more
Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.
The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.
The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.
