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White-winged angels meet the child
On the vestibule of life,
And they offer to his lips
All that cup of mingled strife.

— Elizabeth Oakes Smith

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More quotes by Elizabeth Oakes Smith

The tender violet bent in smiles
To elves that sported nigh,
Tossing the drops of fragrant dew
To scent the evening sky.

The measure of capacity is the measure of sphere for either man or woman.

How few women have any history after the age of thirty!

Yes, this is Life; and everywhere we meet,
Not victor crowns, but wailings of defeat.

'Tis the summer prime, when the noiseless air
In perfumed chalice lies,
And the bee goes by with a lazy hum
Beneath the sleeping skies.

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Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Elizabeth Oakes Smith (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.