Helen Hunt Jackson

"On the king’s gate the moss grew gray; The king came not. They called him dead; And made his eldest son one day Slave in his father’s stead."

"Like a blind spinner in the sun, I tread my days; I know that all the threads will run Appointed ways; I know each day will bring its task, And, being blind, no more I ask."

"[A]ll lost things are in the angels keeping, Love; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love."

"Then, gazing around, looking up at the lofty pinnacles above, which seemed to pierce the sky, looking down upon the world,—it seemed the whole world, so limitless it stretched away at her feet,—feeling that infinite unspeakable sense of nearness to Heaven, remoteness from earth which comes only on mountain heights, she drew in a long breath of delight, and cried: "At last! At last, Alessandro! Here we are safe! This is freedom! This is Joy!"

"The voice of one who goes before to make The paths of June more beautiful, is thine Sweet May!"

"We have flattered ourselves by inventing proverbs of comparison in matter of blindness,—"blind as a bat," for instance. It would be safe to say that there cannot be found in the animal kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its own range of circumstance and connection, as the greater majority of human beings are in the bosoms of their families."