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John Greenleaf Whittier

“

Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about.

John Greenleaf Whittier

“

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: “It might have been!”

John Greenleaf Whittier

“

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.

John Greenleaf Whittier

“

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!

John Greenleaf Whittier

“

Methinks I see the sunset light flooding the river valley, the western hills stretching to the horizon, overhung with trees gorgeous and glowing with the tints of autumn—a mighty flower garden, blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, Frost...

John Greenleaf Whittier

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