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He owns the bird-songs of the hills—
The laughter of the April rills;
23
Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
63
When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh,
In the golden olden glory of the days gone by
188
The blight of the frost may descend on the tree,
And the leaf and the flower may fall and expire,
But ever and ever love blossoms for me,
As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire.
— Jul 04, 2025 05:07PM
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The laughter of the April rills;
23
Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
63
When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh,
In the golden olden glory of the days gone by
188
The blight of the frost may descend on the tree,
And the leaf and the flower may fall and expire,
But ever and ever love blossoms for me,
As I sit in the silence and gaze in the fire.
