Helen Maria (Fiske) Hunt Jackson (October 18, 1830 – August 12, 1885) was an American writer best known as the author of Ramona, a novel about the ill treatment of Native Americans in southern California.
- When on the ground red apples lie
in piles like jewels shining
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbines twining
- from October's Bright Blue Sky
- And every bird I ever knew
Back and forth in the summer flew;
And breezes wafted over me
The scent of every flower and tree:
Till I forgot the pain and gloom
And silence of my darkened room
- from Shadow of Birds
- All lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love;
No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love.
- At last.
- Like a blind spinner in the sun,
I tread my days:
I know that all the threads will run
I know each day will bring its task,
And being blind no more I ask.
- On the king’s gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They called him dead
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father’s stead.
- Father, I scarcely dare to pray,
So clear I see, now it is done,
How I have wasted half my day,
And left my work but just begun.
- A last Prayer.
- The voice of one who goes before, to make
The paths of June more beautiful, is thine