Why should we strive, with cynic frown, to knock their fairy castles down?
Eliza Cook
There’s a magical tie to the land of our home, which the heart cannot break, though the footsteps may roam.
Eliza Cook
How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, When memory plays an old tune on the heart.
Eliza Cook
Who would not rather trust and be deceived?
Eliza Cook
Though language forms the preacher, ‘Tis good works make the man.
Eliza Cook
