Maxioms by John Greenleaf Whittier
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress-trees
Who, hopeless, lays his dead read more
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress-trees
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play!
They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, That all of thee we loved and cherished Has with thy summer roses read more
They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, That all of thee we loved and cherished Has with thy summer roses perished; And left, as its young beauty fled, An ashen memory in its stead.
Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,
From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest,
read more
Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West,
From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest,
When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board
The old broken links of affection restored,
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before.
What moistens the lips and what brightens the eye?
What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie?
As a small businessperson, you have no greater leverage than the truth.
As a small businessperson, you have no greater leverage than the truth.
Maud Muller looked and sighed: :Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!
He would dress read more
Maud Muller looked and sighed: :Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!
He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine."
