Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light The lilacs, where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburmum on his birthday,- The tree is living yet.
Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories