Eleanor Farjeon

In Arcady there lies a crystal spring Ring'd all about with green melodious reeds Swaying seal'd music up and down the wind. Here on its -defaced pedestal The image of a half-forgottenCrumbles to its complete oblivion.

— Eleanor Farjeon music

Of I none, Ofknow I many — I rove beneath theWithout a single penny.

— Eleanor Farjeon man

O evanescent temples built of man To deities he honoured and dethroned! shoots a trail of her eternal vine To crown the head that men have ceased to honour. Beneath the coronal of leaf and lichen The mocking smile upon the lips derides's lost dominion; but the pointed ears Are keen and prick'd with old remember'd sounds. All my breast aches with longing for the past!Thouof , I have a craving in me Forof thee as thou wert in old Enchanted twilights in Arcadia.

— Eleanor Farjeon men

Old sundial, you stand here for : For , the vine that round your base Its tendrils twines, and dares to climb And lay one flower-capped spray inWithout the asking on your cold Unsmiling and unfrowning face.

— Eleanor Farjeon you

Upon your shattered ruins where This vine will flourish still, as rare, As fresh, as fragrant as of old. will not crumble.

— Eleanor Farjeon you

Dropthave hastened your decay And brought you one step nigher ; And you have heard, unthrilled, unmoved, Theof 's golden breath And seen the light in eyes that loved.You think you hold the core and kernel Of all thebeneath your crust, Old dial? But when you lie in dust, This vine will bloom, strong, green, and proved. is .

— Eleanor Farjeon love

King's Cross! What shall we do? His Purple Robe Is rent in two!

— Eleanor Farjeon

The little White Chapel Is ringing its bell With a ring-a-ding-dong, All day long

— Eleanor Farjeon day

Water, Loo! water, Loo! fetch me some water! There isn't a drop for a mile and a quarter! The ground is so hard and the ground is so dry I'm frightened my little red rose-bush will die.

— Eleanor Farjeon art

In Fleet Street, in Fleet Street, the People are so fleet They barely touch the cobble-stones with their nimble feet!

— Eleanor Farjeon wit

My harp and I a-wandering Went over Snowdon Mountain, From Anglesey to Swansea Bay It sang like any fountain.

— Eleanor Farjeon sea

Bugsby's reach is long as time, His reach is wide as wind is, He can pick you nettles in Greenwich Marsh And docks in the East Indies.

— Eleanor Farjeon time

Out upon you, Jerry! Jerry, you're a pity! Jerry, turn about and plant a garden in the City!

— Eleanor Farjeon you

Once she kissed me with a , Once with a tear — O where's the heart was in my breast, And the ring was in my ear?

— Eleanor Farjeon art

He loved her, both for her fault and herof it, more than he had ever thought that he could love her; for he had believed that in theirlove had reached its uttermost. Buthas no uttermost, as thehave no number and theno rest.

— Eleanor Farjeon love

gathers round an old story like lichen on an old branch. And the story of Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard is so old now — some say a year old, some say even two. How can thebe expected to remember?

— Eleanor Farjeon art

Every 's(and ... every 's life), awaits the hour of blossoming that makes it immortal ...is a divinity above all accidents, and guards his own with extraordinary obstinacy.

— Eleanor Farjeon life

No love-story has ever been told twice. I never heard any tale of lovers that did not seem to me as new as theon its first .

— Eleanor Farjeon love

I will fight for you, yes, and you will fight for me. And if you have andandandfor my sake, I will give them all to you again; and yet you must also give them to me, for they are things in which without you I am wanting. But together we can make them.

— Eleanor Farjeon fight

'Inthere are no penalties and no payments, and what is given is indistinguishable from what is received.' And he bent his head and kissed her long and deeply, and in that kiss neither knew themselves, or even each other, but something beyond all consciousness that was both of them.

— Eleanor Farjeon men

All the ill that is in us comes from , and all thefrom .

— Eleanor Farjeon

Of what use to destroy theof ? It is evil itself we must destroy at the roots.

— Eleanor Farjeon evil

are so strangely constructed that they have in themas well as , though it be but a little curtain hung across the . And love is the hand that takes the curtain down, a stronger hand than fear, which hung it up. For all the ill that is in us comes from , andthefrom .

— Eleanor Farjeon love

Thenever knows, and cannot for theof it imagine, what this man sees in that maid and that maid in this man. The world cannot think why they fell in love with each other. But they have their , their, that never gets told to more than one person; and what they see in each other is what they show to each other; and it is the . Only they kept it hidden in theiruntil the time came. And though you and I may never know why this lane is called 's, to us both it will always be the greenest lane in Sussex, because it leads to the special secret I spoke of.

— Eleanor Farjeon love

Sweet the rain's new fall, Sunlit from , Like the first dewfall On the first grass.

— Eleanor Farjeon rain

has broken, Like the first morning, has spoken Like the first bird. for the ! Praise for the morning! Praise for them springing Fresh from the !

— Eleanor Farjeon broken

He could not be captured, He could not be bought, His running was rhythm, His standing was ...

— Eleanor Farjeon running

And only theWith wings to hisCan mount him and ride him Without any rein,The stallion of heaven, The steed of the , Theof the singer Who sings as he .

— Eleanor Farjeon heaven

From the blood ofsprang. His hoof ofLike melody rang.

— Eleanor Farjeon blood

He could not be captured, He could not be bought, His running was rhythm, His standing was ; With one eye on sorrow And one eye on mirth, He galloped inAnd gambolled on . And only theWith wings to hisCan mount him and ride him Without any rein,The stallion of heaven, The steed of the , Theof the singer Who sings as he .

— Eleanor Farjeon heaven

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