Maxioms by Helen Hunt Jackson (helen Hunt)
O month when they who love must love and wed.
O month when they who love must love and wed.
Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame;
Each to his passion; what's in a name?
Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame;
Each to his passion; what's in a name?
Ah, March! we know thou art
Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats,
And, out of sight, read more
Ah, March! we know thou art
Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats,
And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!
On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They call'd him dead;
And read more
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.
"O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles
Fly swiftly read more
"O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles
Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells."
