black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

But still our place is kept, and it will wait, Ready for us to fill it, soon or late.

Adelaide Anne Procter

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Bagwalas

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I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys.
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No star is lost once we have seen
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One by one bright gifts from heaven Joys are sent thee here below
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Do no cheat thy Heart and tell her, ‘Grief will pass away.’
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Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife, / Some pure idea of a noble life / That once seemed possible?
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Words are mighty, words are living:Serpents with their venomous stings,Or bright angels, crowding round us
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Half my life is full of sorrow, Half of joy, still fresh and new
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Be strong to hope, O Heart! Though day is bright,
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I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.
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Did we not hear The flutter of its wings, and feel it near, And just within our reach? It was.
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Do not look at life’s long sorrow; see how small each moment’s pain.
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Some pure ideal of a noble life That once seemed possible?
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And yet We lost it in this daily jar and fret, And now live idle in a vague regret
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No star is ever lost we once have seen, We always may be what we might have been.
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But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.
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Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies
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