Who would not rather trust and be deceived?
Love On |
I love it, I love it, and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
Eliza CookWhere the wind-rows are spread for the butterfly's bed, And the clover-bloom falleth around.
Eliza CookI love it, I love it, and who shall dareTo chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
Eliza CookHow cruelly sweet are the echoes that startWhen memory plays an old tune on the heart!
Eliza CookBetter build schoolrooms for "the boy"Than cells and gibbets for "the man."
Eliza CookOn what strange stuff Ambition feeds!
Eliza CookOn what strange stuff Ambition feeds!
Eliza Cook