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.

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.
John Greenleaf Whittier

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Clothe with life the weak intent, let me be the thing I meant.
- John Greenleaf Whittier
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Through this broad street, restless ever, Ebbs and flows a human tide,Wave on wave a living river;Wealth and fashion side by side;Toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quick current glide.
- John Greenleaf Whittier

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. John Greenleaf Whittier

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.
John Greenleaf Whittier