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I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

- Helen Hunt Jackson
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Author:
Helen Hunt Jackson
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Nature
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I shall be found with 'Indians' engraved on my brain when I am dead. A fire has been kindled within me, which will never go out.

But great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.

When love is at its best, one loves so much that he cannot forget.

As soon as I began, it seemed impossible to write fast enough - I wrote faster than I would write a letter - two thousand to three thousand words in a morning, and I cannot help it.

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?

Great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.

When Time is spent, Eternity begins.

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I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.