Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

1:Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie,

2:Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

3:How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams with its illusions, aspirations, dreams! Book of Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

* WISDOM TROVE *

1:The soul never grows old. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

2:Resolve and thou art free. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

3:Every human heart is human. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

4:Evil is only good perverted. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

5:Having naught else but Hope. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

6:Learn to labour and to wait. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

7:To be strong is to be happy! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

8:Death is better than disease. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

9:Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

10:Let us then, be up and doing. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

11:Time is the life of the soul. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

12:Tis always morning somewhere. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

13:Even cities have their graves! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

14:Silence is a great peacemaker. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

15:The bravest are the tenderest. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

16:The natural alone is permanent. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

17:A boy's will is the wind's will. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

18:Books are sepulchres of thought. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

19:Let the dead Past bury its dead! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

20:Every man has his secret sorrows. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

21:Were toiling upward in the night. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

22:Art is long, and Time is fleeting. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

23:Defeat may be victory in disguise. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

24:Life like an empty dream flits by. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

25:My own thoughts Are my companions. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

26:Nothing that is can pause or stay. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

27:Fair words gladden so many a heart. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

28:Into each life some rain must fall. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

29:Let us be merciful as well as just. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

30:Nothing with God can be accidental. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

31:Were not attained by sudden flight, ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

32:Youth comes but once in a lifetime. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

33:In ourselves are triumph and defeat. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

34:Inspirational, Motivational, Archery ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

35:Inspirational, Success, Perseverance ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

36:Love gives itself; it is not bought. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

37:Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

38:The soul... is audible, not visible. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

39:The young may die, but the old must! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

40:I love thee, as the good love heaven. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

41:Into the arctic regions of our lives, ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

42:Nor be erased nor written o'er again; ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

43:Make not thyself the judge of any man. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

44:Our hearts are lamps for ever burning. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

45:Taste the joy That springs from labor. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

46:The secret anniversaries of the heart. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

47:The world loves a spice of wickedness. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

48:Ambition's cradle oftenest is its grave ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

49:A noble type of good. Heroic womanhood. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

50:But they, while their companions slept, ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

51:From labor there shall come forth rest. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

52:Life hath quicksands, Life hath snares! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

53:Life is the gift of God, and is divine. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

54:The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

55:To something new, to something strange. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

56:Look, then, into thine heart, and write! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

57:The air of summer was sweeter than wine. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

58:Then stars arise, and the night is holy. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

59:Today is the blocks with which we build. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

60:Whatever hath been written shall remain, ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

61:Wisely improve the Present. It is thine. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

62:Nothing is or can be accidental with God. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

63:The heights by great men reached and kept ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

64:The human voice is the organ of the soul. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

65:The nearer the dawn the darker the night. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

66:The unwritten only still belongs to thee: ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

67:To say that he alone has found the truth? ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

68:Don't cross the bridge til you come to it. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

69:Hope has as many lives as a cat or a king. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

70:Softly the evening came /with the sunset/. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

71:Tomorrow is the mysterious, unknown guest. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

72:Wondrous strong are the spells of fiction. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

73:You would attain to the divine perfection. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

74:Behind the clouds is the sun still shining. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

75:Day of the Lord, as all our days should be! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

76:Music is the universal language of mankind. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

77:Perseverance is a great element of success. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

78:These stars of earth, these golden flowers. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

79:A thought often makes us hotter than a fire. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

80:Be noble in every thought And in every deed! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

81:Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

82:None but yourself who are your greatest foe. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

83:The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

84:Where little else than life itself survives. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

85:Age is opportunity no less than youth itself. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

86:How far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

87:Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

88:The thoughts of Youth are long, long thoughts ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

89:Fortune comes well to all that comes not late. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

90:In the long run men hit only what they aim at. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

91:No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

92:Silence and solitude, the soul's best friends. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

93:Take heed, and ponder well what that shall be. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

94:There is nothing perfectly secure but poverty. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

95:All things come round to him who will but wait. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

96:Gone are the birds that were our summer guests. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

97:Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

98:The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

99:Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

100:Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

101:And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

102:No man is so poor as to have nothing worth giving. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

103:Do not delay, Do not delay: the golden moments fly! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

104:History casts its shadow far into the land of song. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

105:If we could read the secret history of our enemies. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

106:In this world a man must either be anvil or hammer. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

107:Into a world unknown,-the corner-stone of a nation! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

108:Past Future, Fear Of The Future, Future And Present ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

109:People demand freedom only when they have no power. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

110:The country is not priest-ridded, but press-ridden. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

111:My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

112:No endeavour is in vain; Its reward is in the doing. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

113:There is no grief like the grief that does not speak. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

114:A millstone and the human heart are driven ever round, ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

115:Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

116:And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

117:Know how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

118:Look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

119:Nature is a revelation of God; Art a revelation of man. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

120:Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

121:Art is the gift of God, and must be used unto His glory. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

122:Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

123:Great men stand like solitary towers in the city of God. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

124:Will without power is like children playing at soldiers. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

125:An angel visited the green earth, and took a flower away. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

126:Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and silence. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

127:The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

128:Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

129:If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

130:My designs and labors and aspirations are my only friends. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

131:Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

132:Talk not of wasted affection - affection never was wasted. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

133:A sermon is no sermon in which I cannot hear the heartbeat. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

134:Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

135:Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise, ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

136:The twilight that surrounds the border-land of old romance. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

137:Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest of all the arts. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

138:In youth all doors open outward; in old age all open inward. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

139:Oh, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

140:Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

141:The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

142:All was silent as before - All silent save the dripping rain. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

143:All your strength is in union, all your danger is in discord. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

144:He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

145:I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

146:Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice triumphs. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

147:Sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O Union, strong and great. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

148:Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

149:They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

150:A life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

151:Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

152:Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

153:The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

154:Think not because no man sees, such things will remain unseen. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

155:Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

156:Difficulty on the way to victory is opportunity for God to work ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

157:Do not fear! Heaven is as near, He said, "by water as by land!" ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

158:He who knows and knows that he knows. He is a king; follow him. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

159:Ne speaketh not; and yet there lies a conversation in his eyes. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

160:The counterfeit and counterpart of Nature is reproduced in art. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

161:To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

162:What shall I say to you? What can I say Better than silence is? ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

163:But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

164:Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

165:He spoke well who said that graves are the footprints of angels. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

166:If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

167:Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

168:Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

169:There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

170:Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

171:For next to being a great poet is the power of understanding one. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

172:From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

173:Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

174:He who knows and knows not that he knows. He is asleep; wake him. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

175:I shot an arrow into the air, it fell to earth, I knew not where. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

176:I will be a man among men; and no longer a dreamer among shadows. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

177:Sang in tones of deep emotion Songs of love and songs of longing. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

178:Truly, this world can go on without us, if we would but think so. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

179:All your strength in is your union. All your danger is in discord. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

180:And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

181:Success is not something to wait for, it is something to work for. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

182:That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

183:The hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

184:The picture that approaches sculpture nearest Is the best picture. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

185:Therefore be at peace henceforward, And as brothers live together. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

186:beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away? ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

187:Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willing. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

188:If they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

189:I love an author the more for having been himself a lover of books. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

190:I see, but cannot reach, the height That lies forever in the light. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

191:It is the heart and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

192:The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

193:We are all architects of faith, ever living in these walls of time. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

194:When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

195:The heaven of poetry and romance still lies around us and within us. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

196:Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

197:And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

198:Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

199:Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

200:One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

201:Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

202:The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

203:What seems to us but dim funeral tapers may be heaven's distant lamps. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

204:When we walk towards the sun of Truth, all shadows are cast behind us. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

205:Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

206:He who knows not and knows that he knows not. He is a child; teach him. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

207:Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, Life is checkered shade and sunshine. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

208:No literature is complete until the language it was written in is dead. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

209:Often times we call a man [or woman] cold when he [or she] is only sad. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

210:Sometimes we may learn more from a man's errors, than from his virtues. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

211:The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

212:The strength of criticism lies in the weakness of the thing criticized. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

213:The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do, well. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

214:Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

215:Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

216:A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

217:Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

218:Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are happiest. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

219:The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

220:The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

221:A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

222:For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

223:Give what you have. To some one, it may be better than you dare to think. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

224:He who knows not and knows not that he knows not. He is a fool; shun him. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

225:I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

226:Listen my children and you shall hear, Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

227:Tales of aWayside Inn pt. 3 "The Theologian's Tale: Elizabeth" pt. 4 (1874) ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

228:The day is dark and cold and dreary; it rains, and the wind is never weary. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

229:I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls, The burial-ground God's-Acre. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

230:Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

231:Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, let us be merciful as well as just ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

232:I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

233:Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives whom we call dead. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

234:Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

235:The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright. The house is full of life and light. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

236:However things may seem, no evil thing is success and no good thing is failure. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

237:Let him not boast who puts his armor on as he who puts it off, the battle done. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

238:Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

239:Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! The frontier town and citadel of night! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

240:Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

241:Dost thou know what a hero is? Why, a hero is as much as one should say, a hero. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

242:Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

243:The surest pledge of a deathless name Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

244:To be left alone, and face to face with my own crime, had been just retribution. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

245:And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

246:Is this is a dream? O, if it be a dream, Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

247:Mercy more becomes a magistrate than the vindictive wrath which men call justice. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

248:The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

249:They who go Feel not the pain of parting; it is they Who stay behind that suffer. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

250:To charm, to strengthen, and to teach: these are the three great chords of might. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

251:Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

252:And when she was good she was very very good. But when she was bad she was horrid. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

253:As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

254:Everyone says that forgiveness is a lovely idea until he has something to forgive. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

255:I know not how it is, but during a voyage I collect books as a ship does barnacles. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

256:A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

257:All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

258:As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, all my dreams, come back to me. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

259:At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, That nothing with God can be accidental. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

260:It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

261:The market-place, the eager love of gain, Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

262:What else remains for me? Youth, hope and love; To build a new life on a ruined life. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

263:When Christ ascended Triumphantly from star to star He left the gates of Heaven ajar. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

264:The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

265:The greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it anticipates and admits of no return. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

266:Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

267:If we love one another, nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

268:The heart, like the mind, has a memory. And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

269:The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

270:With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

271:It has done me good to be somewhat parched by the heat and drenched by the rain of life. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

272:Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

273:The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

274:People of a lively imagination are generally curious, and always so when a little in love. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

275:Three silences there are: the first of speech, the second of desire, the third of thought. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

276:He that respects himself is safe from others. He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

277:It is true, that it is not at all necessary to love many books, in order to love them much. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

278:Like black hulks the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the billowy sea of grass. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

279:There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

280:Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

281:There's nothing in this world so sweet as love. And next to love the sweetest thing is hate. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

282:If you once understand an author's character, the comprehension of his writings becomes easy. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

283:Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

284:The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

285:It is a beautiful trait in the lover's character, that they think no evil of the object loved. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

286:The great tragedy of the average man is that he goes to his grave with his music still in him. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

287:To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgment of others. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

288:The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

289:Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

290:The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

291:Would you learn the secret of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers, comprehend its mystery! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

292:Youth comes but once a life time. Perhaps, but it remains strong in many for their entire lives. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

293:Authors must not, like Chinese soldiers, expect to win victories by turning somersets in the air. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

294:Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

295:Every great poem is in itself limited by necessity, but in its suggestions unlimited and infinite. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

296:I cannot believe any man can be perfectly well in body, who has much labor of the mind to perform. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

297:Our ingress into the world Was naked and bare; Our progress through the world Is trouble and care. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

298:Simplicity in character, in manners, in style; in all things the supreme excellence is simplicity. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

299:It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

300:Let us, then, be what we are; speak what we think; and in all things keep ourselves loyal to truth. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

301:The Nile, forever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

302:A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

303:Every man is in some sort a failure to himself. No one ever reaches the heights to which he aspires. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

304:lovely eyes of azure, Clear as the waters of a brook that run Limpid and laughing in the summer sun! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

305:Perhaps the greatest lesson which the lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word* Wait! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

306:So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

307:When you ask one friend to dine, Give him your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

308:Some poems are like the Centaurs&

309:The men that women marry, And why they marry them, will always be A marvel and a mystery to the world. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

310:A solid man of Boston; A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

311:It was a high counsel that I once heard given to a young person, - always do what you are afraid to do. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

312:Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

313:Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

314:A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

315:Beautiful in form and feature, lovely as the day, can there be so fair a creature formed of common clay? ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

316:We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

317:Youth wrenches the sceptre from old age, and sets the crown on its own head before it is entitled to it. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

318:Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human breast, that however high we reach we are never satisfied. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

319:As the heart is, so is love to the heart. It partakes of its strength or weakness, its health or disease. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

320:Dreams or illusions, call them what you will, they lift us from the commonplace of life to better things. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

321:For bells are the voice of the church; They have tones that touch and search The hearts of young and old. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

322:The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

323:See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

324:If a woman shows too often the Medusa's head, she must not be astonished if her lover is turned into stone. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

325:All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them, but what is universal. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

326:God's voice was not in the earthquake, Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

327:They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

328:Take this sorrow to thy heart and make it part of thee, and it shall nourish thee till thou art strong again. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

329:No one is so accursed by fate, no one so utterly desolate, but some heart though unknown responds unto his own. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

330:Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

331:The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

332:The true poet is a friendly man. He takes to his arms even cold and inanimate things, and rejoices in his heart. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

333:We often excuse our own want of philanthropy by giving the name of fanaticism to the more ardent zeal of others. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

334:Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

335:It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

336:It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

337:Every man has a paradise around him till he sins, and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

338:Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

339:Sculpture is more than painting. It is greater To raise the dead to life than to create Phantoms that seem to live. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

340:Stars of earth, these golden flowers; emblems of our own great resurrection; emblems of the bright and better land. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

341:The poor too often turn away unheard, From hearts that shut against them with a sound That will be heard in heaven. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

342:Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

343:Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

344:Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate, Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

345:Like a French poem is life; being only perfect in structure when with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

346:Live up to the best that is in you: Live noble lives, as you all may, in whatever condition you may find yourselves. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

347:Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

348:A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

349:In the elder days of art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part, For the Gods are everywhere ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

350:Men of genius are often dull and inert in society; as the blazing meteor, when it descends to earth, is only a stone. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

351:Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

352:Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east-wind was his breath. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

353:Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

354:Music! language of the soul, Of love, of God to man; Bright beam from heaven thrilling, That lightens sorrow's weight. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

355:Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

356:The life of a man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams, but in active charity and in willing service. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

357:Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

358:Build today, then strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure. Shall tomorrow find its place. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

359:In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

360:The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

361:Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

362:I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

363:My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

364:Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o’er our fears, are all with thee – are all with thee! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

365:Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn; We shudder for a moment, then awake In the broad sunshine of the other life. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

366:Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

367:Love is a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than animate faith and love, as flowers are the animate springtide. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

368:weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

369:All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

370:Many have genius, but, wanting art, are forever dumb. The two must go together to form the great poet, painter, or sculptor. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

371:Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

372:There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

373:But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages, Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

374:holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

375:The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

376:How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

377:Prayer is innocence's friend; and willingly flieth incessant &

378:The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

379:Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

380:The Mormons make the marriage ring, like the ring of Saturn, fluid, not solid, and keep it in its place by numerous satellites. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

381:There is no light in earth or heaven but the cold light of stars; and the first watch of night is given to the red planet Mars. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

382:thou sculptor, painter, poet! Take this lesson to thy heart: That is best which lieth nearest; Shape from that thy work of art. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

383:Ah! What would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

384:Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

385:Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

386:The Laws of Nature are just, but terrible. There is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are inseparable and inevitable. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

387:Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

388:Burn, O evening hearth, and waken Pleasant visions, as of old! Though the house by winds be shaken, Safe I keep this room of gold! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

389:Man is always more than he can know of himself; consequently, his accomplishments, time and again, will come as a surprise to him. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

390:The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

391:Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

392:Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

393:Nature paints not; In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven; With sunsets, and the lovely forms of clouds; And flying vapors. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

394:This is the place. Stand still, my steed,- Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that once have been. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

395:A great sorrow, like a mariner's quadrant, brings the sun at noon down to the horizon, and we learn where we are on the sea of life. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

396:All things are symbols: the external shows Of Nature have their image in the mind , As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

397:The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full of flowers. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

398:Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts are thoughts of me. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

399:&

400:Chill air and wintry winds! My ear has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

401:Critics are sentinels in the grand army of letters, stationed at the corners of newspapers and reviews, to challenge every new author. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

402:I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

403:Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

404:Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep, All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, and all is o'er, A plunge, a bubble, and no more. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

405:I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

406:I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

407:Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of might be, a psychological romance of possibilities and things that do not happen. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

408:Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

409:Perseverance is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

410:Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

411:If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

412:Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

413:Trouble is the next best thing to enjoyment; there is no fate in the world so horrible as to have no share in either its joys or sorrows. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

414:Trust no future, however pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act - act in the living Present! Heart within and God overhead. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

415:Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay; Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For oh, it is not always May! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

416:We have not wings we cannot soar; but, we have feet to scale and climb, by slow degrees, by more and more, the cloudy summits of our time. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

417:We waste our best years in distilling the sweetest flowers of life into potions which, after all, do not immortalize, but only intoxicate. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

418:There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

419:Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

420:By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

421:I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

422:It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

423:And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and silently steal away. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

424:It is Lucifer, The son of mystery; And since God suffers him to be, He too, is God's minister, And labors for some good By us not understood. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

425:There is no flock, however watched and tended, but one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside howsoe'er defended, but has one vacant chair. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

426:Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

427:Build me straight. O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

428:I am never indifferent, and never pretend to be, to what people say or think of my books. They are my children, and I like to have them liked. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

429:suffering, sad humanity! O ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, yet afraid to die, Patient, though sorely tried! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

430:Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

431:A young critic is like a boy with a gun; he fires at every living thing he sees. He thinks only of his own skill, not of the pain he is giving. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

432:Take them, O Death! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own! Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Doth give thee that, but that alone! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

433:We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

434:flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river Linger to kiss thy feet! O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever The world more fair and sweet. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

435:Youth, hope, and love: To build a new life on a ruined life, To make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a troubled dream. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

436:Now to rivulets from the mountains Point the rods of fortune-tellers; Youth perpetual dwells in fountains, Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

437:Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn; Something with passion clasp, or perish And in itself to ashes burn. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

438:Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

439:There's not a ship that sails the ocean, But every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small, And help to build the wooden wall! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

440:In what a forge and what a heat were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock; &

441:Sail on ship of state, sail on, I union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, with all its hopes of future years, is hanging on thy fate! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

442:By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

443:A man must be of a very quiet and happy nature, who can long endure the country; and, moreover, very well contented with his own insignificant person. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

444:Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

445:With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought; they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

446:Bell, thou soundest merrily, When the bridal party To the church doth hie! Bell, thou soundest solemnly, When, on Sabbath morning, Fields deserted lie! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

447:Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, to some good angel leave the rest; For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nest! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

448:Our blossoms of passion, gay and luxuriant flowers, are bright and full of fragrance, but they beguile us and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

449:The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they, while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

450:Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

451:I dislike an eye that twinkles like a star. Those only are beautiful which, like the planets, have a steady lambent light, are luminous, but not sparkling. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

452:The swallow is come! The swallow is come! O, fair are the seasons, and light Are the days that she brings, With her dusky wings, And her bosom snowy white! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

453:It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought! Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery; we build where monsters used to hide themselves. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

454:The sun is set; and in his latest beams Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, The falling mantle of the Prophet seems. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

455:Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

456:In December ring Every day the chimes; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

457:For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

458:All nature ... is a respiration Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing hereafter Will inhale it into his bosom again, So that nothing but God alone will remain. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

459:Buried was the bloody hatchet; Buried was the dreadful war-club; Buried were all warlike weapons, And the war-cry was forgotten. Then was peace among the nations. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

460:Even the blackest of them all, the crow, Renders good service as your man-at-arms, Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail. And crying havoc on the slug and snail. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

461:Magnificent autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds; not like a hermit, clad in gray; but like a warrior with the stain of blood in his brazen mail. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

462:Many people do not allow their principles to take root, but pull them up every now and then, as children do the flowers they have planted, to see if they are growing. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

463:Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

464:As Unto the bow the the cord is , So unto the man is woman; Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him , yet she follows: Useless each without the other. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

465:How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams with its illusions, aspirations, dreams! Book of Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

466:A word that has been said may be unsaid-it is but air. But when a deed is done, it cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

467:Each new epoch in life seems an encounter. There is a tussle and a cloud of dust, and we come out of it triumphant or crest-fallen, according as we have borne ourselves. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

468:The tragic element in poetry is like Saturn in alchemy, the Malevolent, the Destroyer of Nature ; but without it no true Aurum Potabile, or Elixir of Life, can be made. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

469:I saw the long line of the vacant shore, The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand, And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, As if the ebbing tide would flow no more. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

470:Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without number Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only. Only to love and to be loved again. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

471:The pleasant books, that silently among Our household treasures take familiar places, And are to us as if a living tongue Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

472:But ah! what once has been shall be no more! The groaning earth in travail and in pain Brings forth its races, but does not restore, And the dead nations never rise again. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

473:Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, a shadow on those features fair and thin. And softly, from the hushed and darkened room, two angels issued, where but one went in. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

474:What discord should we bring into the universe if our prayers were all answered! Then we should govern the world, and not God. And do you think we should govern it better? ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

475:Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

476:Nothing that is can pause or stay; / The moon will wax, the moon will wane, / The mist and cloud will turn to rain, / The rain to mist and cloud again, / Tomorrow be today. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

477:Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

478:The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

479:Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

480:But the nearer the dawn the darker the night, And by going wrong all things come right. Things have been mended that were worse, and the the worse, the nearer they are to mend. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

481:I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths of literature,&

482:Oh, what a glory doth this world put on, for him who with a fervent heart goes forth under the bright and glorious sky, and looks on duties well performed, and days well spent. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

483:Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

484:I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

485:The highest exercise of imagination is not to devise what has no existence, but rather to perceive what really exists, though unseen by the outward eye-not creation, but insight. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

486:Then followed that beautiful season... Summer... . Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

487:Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

488:A spirit of criticism, if indulged in, leads to a censoriousness of disposition that is destructive of all nobler feeling. The man who lives to find faults has a miserable mission. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

489:Each day is a branch of the Tree of Life laden heavily with fruit. If we lie down lazily beneath it, we may starve; but if we shake the branches, some of the fruit will fall for us. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

490:Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are the happiest, For those that wander they know not where Are full of trouble and full of care; To stay at home is best. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

491:That tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms on it than it now bears. That tree grows new wood each year. Like that apple tree, I try to grow a new little wood each year. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

492:Think of your woods and orchards without birds! Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams As in an idiot's brain remembered words Hang empty &

493:Big words do not smite like war-clubs, Boastful breath is not a bow-string, Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, Deeds are better things than words are, Actions mightier than boastings. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

494:White swan of cities slumbering in thy nest . . . White phantom city, whose untrodden streets Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting Shadows of the palaces and strips of sky. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

495:If the mind, that rules the body, ever so far forgets itself as to trample on its slave, the slave is never generous enough to forgive the injury, but will rise and smite the oppressor. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

496:The student has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

497:The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall be, The things that might have been, and yet were not, The fading twilight of joys departed. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

498:If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me? If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning! ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

499:Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. By dropping golden beads near a snake, a crow once managed To have a passer-by kill the snake for the beads. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

500:The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, While underneath such leafy tents they keep The long, mysterious Exodus of Death. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

* NEWFULLDB 2.4M *

1:sylvan ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

2:Who dares ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

3:Be thy sleep ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

4:Do not delay, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

5:Men are four; ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

6:Taste the joy ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

7:The nimble lie ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

8:Thou shalt learn ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

9:This song of mine ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

10:For hate is strong, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

11:Balder the Beautiful ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

12:All things must change ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

13:Time has laid his hand ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

14:Work is my recreation, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

15:All things are symbols. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

16:The sea hath its pearls ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

17:Time rides with the old ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

18:No endeavour is in vain; ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

19:I am the Angel of the Sun ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

20:Let nothing disturb thee, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

21:O lovely river of Yvette! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

22:The soul never grows old. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

23:How beautiful is the rain! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

24:Resolve and thou art free. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

25:Your silent tents of green ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

26:Art is the child of Nature. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

27:Every human heart is human. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

28:Learn To Labor and to 'WAIT ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

29:Out of the shadows of night ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

30:Resolve, and thou art free. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

31:As great Pythagoras of yore, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

32:Evil is only good perverted. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

33:Learn to labour and to wait. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

34:To be strong is to be happy! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

35:Death is better than disease. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

36:Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

37:Let us then, be up and doing. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

38:O thou child of many prayers! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

39:Time is the life of the soul. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

40:Tis always morning somewhere. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

41:Even cities have their graves! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

42:Great is the art of beginning. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

43:Nor deem the irrevocable Past ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

44:One if by land, two if by sea. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

45:Silence is a great peacemaker. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

46:The bravest are the tenderest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

47:Ah, how skillful grows the hand ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

48:By the shores of Gitchee Gumee, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

49:The low desire, the base design ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

50:The natural alone is permanent. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

51:They, the holy ones and weakly, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

52:A boy's will is the wind's will. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

53:Books are sepulchres of thought. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

54:Does not all the blood within me ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

55:For the structure that we raise, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

56:God sent his Singers upon earth ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

57:Let the dead Past bury its dead! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

58:Every man has his secret sorrows. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

59:Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

60:Rule by patience, Laughing Water! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

61:Tell me not, in mournful numbers, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

62:The life of woman is full of woe, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

63:The prayer of Ajax was for light. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

64:Thus at the flaming forge of life ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

65:Art is long, and Time is fleeting. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

66:But the great Master said, "I see ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

67:Defeat may be victory in disguise. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

68:How like they are to human things! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

69:Life like an empty dream flits by. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

70:My own thoughts Are my companions. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

71:Nothing that is can pause or stay. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

72:Torrent of light and river of air, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

73:Youth comes but once in a lifetime ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

74:Fair words gladden so many a heart. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

75:Into each life some rain must fall. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

76:Let us be merciful as well as just. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

77:My Book and Heart Shall never part. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

78:Nothing with God can be accidental. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

79:O, though oft oppressed and lonely, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

80:The soul...is audible, not visible. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

81:Youth comes but once in a lifetime. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

82:At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

83:Decide not rashly. The decision made ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

84:For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

85:In ourselves are triumph and defeat. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

86:Love gives itself; it is not bought. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

87:O summer day beside the joyous sea! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

88:Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

89:The young may die, but the old must! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

90:Where, twisted round the barren oak, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

91:I love thee, as the good love heaven. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

92:The Devil hinders me. You know I say ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

93:Balder the beautiful/is dead, is dead! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

94:Make not thyself the judge of any man. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

95:Our hearts are lamps for ever burning. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

96:The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

97:The holiest of all holidays are those ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

98:The secret anniversaries of the heart. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

99:The world loves a spice of wickedness. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

100:Ambition's cradle oftenest is its grave ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

101:A noble type of good. Heroic womanhood. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

102:From labor there shall come forth rest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

103:Life hath quicksands, Life hath snares! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

104:Life is the gift of God, and is divine. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

105:Music is the language spoken by angels. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

106:The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

107:There are no birds in last year's nest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

108:There are two angels that attend unseen ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

109:There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

110:A handful of red sand from the hot clime ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

111:Buatlah keputusan, maka anda akan bebas. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

112:How can I tell the signals and the signs ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

113:Look, then, into thine heart, and write! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

114:The air of summer was sweeter than wine. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

115:Then stars arise, and the night is holy. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

116:Today is the blocks with which we build. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

117:Whatever hath been written shall remain, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

118:Wisely improve the Present. It is thine. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

119:I do not love thee less for what is done, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

120:Mine is the Month of Roses; yes, and mine ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

121:Nothing is or can be accidental with God. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

122:The grave itself is but a covered bridge, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

123:The human voice is the organ of the soul. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

124:The nearer the dawn the darker the night. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

125:The nearer the dawn, the darker the night ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

126:To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

127:Don't cross the bridge til you come to it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

128:God is not dead; nor doth He sleep; ... ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

129:Hope has as many lives as a cat or a king. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

130:How in the turmoil of life can love stand, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

131:She floats upon the river of his thoughts. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

132:Softly the evening came /with the sunset/. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

133:Tomorrow is the mysterious, unknown guest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

134:Wondrous strong are the spells of fiction. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

135:You would attain to the divine perfection. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

136:And the bright faces of my young companions ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

137:A noble type of good.
Heroic womanhood. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

138:Behind the clouds is the sun still shining. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

139:Day of the Lord, as all our days should be! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

140:Music is the universal language of mankind. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

141:Perseverance is a great element of success. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

142:These stars of earth, these golden flowers. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

143:The spirit-world around this world of sense ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

144:A thought often makes us hotter than a fire. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

145:Be noble in every thought And in every deed! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

146:Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

147:None but yourself who are your greatest foe. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

148:The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

149:The nearer the dawn
the darker the night. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

150:Write on your doors the saying wise and old, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

151:Age is opportunity no less than youth itself. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

152:How far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

153:Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

154:Perhaps there lives some dreamy boy, untaught ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

155:That was the first sound in the song of love! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

156:The thoughts of Youth are long, long thoughts ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

157:'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

158:Fortune comes well to all that comes not late. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

159:In the long run men hit only what they aim at. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

160:No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

161:Silence and solitude, the soul's best friends. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

162:The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

163:There is nothing perfectly secure but poverty. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

164:All things come round to him who will but wait. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

165:Gone are the birds that were our summer guests. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

166:Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

167:The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

168:Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

169:Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

170:The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

171:Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

172:Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

173:And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

174:No man is so poor as to have nothing worth giving. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

175:Every arrow that flies feels the pull of the earth. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

176:Frost kills the flowers that bloom out of season... ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

177:History casts its shadow far into the land of song. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

178:If we could read the secret history of our enemies. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

179:In this world a man must either be anvil or hammer. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

180:Into a world unknown,-the corner-stone of a nation! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

181:People demand freedom only when they have no power. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

182:The country is not priest-ridded, but press-ridden. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

183:My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

184:There is no grief like the grief that does not speak. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

185:A millstone and the human heart are driven ever round, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

186:Unasked, Unsought, Love gives itself but is not bought ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

187:Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

188:And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

189:Know how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

190:Look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

191:Nature is a revelation of God; Art a revelation of man. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

192:Selain berlaku adil, marilah kita juga bersifat pemaaf. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

193:The emigrant's way o'er the western desert is mark'd by ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

194:Art is the gift of God, and must be used unto His glory. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

195:Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

196:Great men stand like solitary towers in the city of God. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

197:Will without power is like children playing at soldiers. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

198:All was ended now, the hope, and the fear and the sorrow, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

199:An angel visited the green earth, and took a flower away. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

200:It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

201:Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and silence. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

202:Out of the shdows of night
The world rolls into light. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

203:Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

204:The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

205:Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

206:If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

207:My designs and labors and aspirations are my only friends. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

208:Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

209:Talk not of wasted affection - affection never was wasted. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

210:A sermon is no sermon in which I cannot hear the heartbeat. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

211:Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

212:Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

213:The twilight that surrounds the border-land of old romance. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

214:Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest of all the arts. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

215:If spring came but once a century instead of once a year, or ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

216:In youth all doors open outward; in old age all open inward. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

217:Oh, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

218:Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

219:The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

220:All was silent as before - All silent save the dripping rain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

221:All your strength is in union, all your danger is in discord. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

222:He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

223:I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

224:Life is real, life is earnest, and the grave is not its goal. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

225:Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice triumphs. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

226:Sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O Union, strong and great. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

227:They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

228:A life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

229:Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

230:Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

231:Some must follow and some command, through all are made oclay. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

232:The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

233:Think not because no man sees, such things will remain unseen. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

234:When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but shows it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

235:Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

236:Difficulty on the way to victory is opportunity for God to work ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

237:Ne speaketh not; and yet there lies a conversation in his eyes. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

238:The counterfeit and counterpart of Nature is reproduced in art. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

239:What shall I say to you? What can I say Better than silence is? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

240:But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

241:Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

242:He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

243:He spoke well who said that graves are the footprints of angels. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

244:If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

245:Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

246:Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

247:There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

248:Think not, because no man sees
Such things will remain unseen ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

249:Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

250:"Do not fear! Heaven is as near," He said, "by water as by land!" ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

251:For next to being a great poet is the power of understanding one. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

252:From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

253:Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

254:I hear the wind among the trees playing the celestial symphonies. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

255:I shot an arrow into the air, it fell to earth, I knew not where. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

256:I will be a man among men; and no longer a dreamer among shadows. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

257:Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

258:Sang in tones of deep emotion Songs of love and songs of longing. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

259:Truly, this world can go on without us, if we would but think so. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

260:And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

261:Books are sepulchres of thought. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Wind Over the Chimney, Stanza 8.,

262: "Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice Triumphs; ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

263:Success is not something to wait for, it is something to work for. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

264:That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

265:The hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

266:The picture that approaches sculpture nearest Is the best picture. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

267:There is no grief like the grief that does not speak. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~ Marie Force,

268:Your education begins where what is called your education is over. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

269:All your strength in is your union. All your danger is in discord. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

270:Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willing. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

271:I love an author the more for having been himself a lover of books. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

272:I see, but cannot reach, the height That lies forever in the light. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

273:It is the heart and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

274:The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

275:We are all architects of faith, ever living in these walls of time. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

276:When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

277:The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

278:The heaven of poetry and romance still lies around us and within us. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

279:Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

280:And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

281:Great is the art of beginning, but even greater is the art of ending. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

282:Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

283:O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

284:Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

285: When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

286:One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

287:Straight between them ran the pathway,
Never grew the grass upon it ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

288:Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

289:The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

290:What seems to us but dim funeral tapers may be heaven's distant lamps. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

291:When we walk towards the sun of Truth, all shadows are cast behind us. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

292:Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

293:No literature is complete until the language it was written in is dead. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

294:Often times we call a man [or woman] cold when he [or she] is only sad. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

295:Sometimes we may learn more from a man's errors, than from his virtues. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

296:The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

297:The strength of criticism lies in the weakness of the thing criticized. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

298:The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do, well. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

299:Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

300:Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

301:A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

302:Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

303:Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

304:Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are happiest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

305:The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

306:The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

307:A torn jacket is soon mended, but hard words bruise the heart of a child. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

308:A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

309:For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

310:Give what you have. To some one, it may be better than you dare to think. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

311:I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

312:Its reward is in the doing,
And the rapture of pursuing
Is the prize ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

313:Listen my children and you shall hear, Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

314:For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

315:Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.” — ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

316:Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest;
Home-keeping hearts are happiest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

317:The day is dark and cold and dreary; it rains, and the wind is never weary. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

318:I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls, The burial-ground God's-Acre. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

319:It takes less time to do a thing right than explain why you did it wrong.... ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

320:It takes less time to do a thing right than to explain why you did it wrong. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

321:We are very like the English, — are, in fact, English under a different sky. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

322:Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

323:Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, let us be merciful as well as just ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

324:I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

325:Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives whom we call dead. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

326:It takes less time to do something right than to explain why you did it wrong. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

327:Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

328:The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright. The house is full of life and light. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

329:However things may seem, no evil thing is success and no good thing is failure. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

330:Let him not boast who puts his armor on as he who puts it off, the battle done. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

331:Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

332:Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! The frontier town and citadel of night! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

333:Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

334:Resistance by its very nature demands that we choose choices not offered to us. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

335:Dost thou know what a hero is? Why, a hero is as much as one should say, a hero. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

336:Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

337:The surest pledge of a deathless name Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

338:To be left alone, and face to face with my own crime, had been just retribution. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

339:And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

340:Great is the art of the beginning, but greater is the art of ending. —HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ~ Henry Cloud,

341:Is this is a dream? O, if it be a dream, Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

342:Mercy more becomes a magistrate than the vindictive wrath which men call justice. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

343:Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for miles below ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

344:The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

345:They who go Feel not the pain of parting; it is they Who stay behind that suffer. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

346:To charm, to strengthen, and to teach: these are the three great chords of might. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

347:And when she was good she was very very good. But when she was bad she was horrid. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

348:As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

349:Everyone says that forgiveness is a lovely idea until he has something to forgive. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

350:I know not how it is, but during a voyage I collect books as a ship does barnacles. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

351:The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,
And all the sweet serenity of books ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

352:A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

353:God sifted a whole nation that he might send choice grain over into this wilderness. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

354:All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

355:As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, all my dreams, come back to me. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

356:At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, That nothing with God can be accidental. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

357:It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

358:The market-place, the eager love of gain, Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

359:What else remains for me? Youth, hope and love; To build a new life on a ruined life. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

360:When Christ ascended Triumphantly from star to star He left the gates of Heaven ajar. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

361:Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

362:The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

363:The greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it anticipates and admits of no return. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

364:A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

365:As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

366:Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

367:If we love one another, nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

368:If you knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

369:The heart, like the mind, has a memory. And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

370:The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

371:With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

372:It has done me good to be somewhat parched by the heat and drenched by the rain of life. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

373:Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

374:The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

375:In character, in manner, in style, in all the things, the supreme excellence is simplicity ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

376:People of a lively imagination are generally curious, and always so when a little in love. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

377:Three silences there are: the first of speech, the second of desire, the third of thought. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

378:He that respects himself is safe from others. He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

379:It is true, that it is not at all necessary to love many books, in order to love them much. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

380:Like black hulks the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the billowy sea of grass. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

381:The heart, like the mind, has a memory.
And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

382:There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

383:Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

384:There's nothing in this world so sweet as love. And next to love the sweetest thing is hate. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

385:If you once understand an author's character, the comprehension of his writings becomes easy. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

386:Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

387:The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

388:It is a beautiful trait in the lover's character, that they think no evil of the object loved. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

389:The great tragedy of the average man is that he goes to his grave with his music still in him. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

390:To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgment of others. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

391:The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

392:Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

393:Existem três Silêncios: o primeiro, de palavra; O segundo, de desejo; o terceiro, de pensamento. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

394:It is difficult to know what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

395:Some poems are like the Centaurs--a mingling of man and beast, and begotten of Ixion on a cloud. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

396:The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

397:Would you learn the secret of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers, comprehend its mystery! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

398:Youth comes but once a life time. Perhaps, but it remains strong in many for their entire lives. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

399:Authors must not, like Chinese soldiers, expect to win victories by turning somersets in the air. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

400:Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

401:The purpose of that apple tree is to grow a little new wood each year. That is what I plan to do. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

402:Every great poem is in itself limited by necessity, but in its suggestions unlimited and infinite. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

403:I cannot believe any man can be perfectly well in body, who has much labor of the mind to perform. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

404:It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

405:Our ingress into the world Was naked and bare; Our progress through the world Is trouble and care. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

406:Simplicity in character, in manners, in style; in all things the supreme excellence is simplicity. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

407:It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

408:Let us, then, be what we are; speak what we think; and in all things keep ourselves loyal to truth. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

409:The Nile, forever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

410:And when she was good She was very, very good, But when she was bad she was horrid. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ~ Liz Curtis Higgs,

411:A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

412:Every man is in some sort a failure to himself. No one ever reaches the heights to which he aspires. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

413:In character, in manner, in style, in all things, the supreme excellence is simplicity. —HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ~ Salman Khan,

414:Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline (1847), Part II. V, line 35,

415:Perhaps the greatest lesson which the lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word* Wait! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

416:So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

417:The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow We are such stuff as dreams are made of. ~ William Shakespeare,

418:When you ask one friend to dine, Give him your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

419:O lovely eyes of azure, Clear as the waters of a brook that run Limpid and laughing in the summer sun! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

420:The men that women marry, And why they marry them, will always be A marvel and a mystery to the world. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

421:You judge yourself by what your capable of doing, while others judge you by what you have already done ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

422:A solid man of Boston; A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

423:God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for this planting. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Courtship of Miles Standish, IV,

424:It was a high counsel that I once heard given to a young person, - always do what you are afraid to do. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

425:Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

426:Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

427:A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

428:Beautiful in form and feature, lovely as the day, can there be so fair a creature formed of common clay? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

429:We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

430:Youth wrenches the sceptre from old age, and sets the crown on its own head before it is entitled to it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

431:Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human breast, that however high we reach we are never satisfied. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

432:As the heart is, so is love to the heart. It partakes of its strength or weakness, its health or disease. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

433:Dreams or illusions, call them what you will, they lift us from the commonplace of life to better things. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

434:For bells are the voice of the church; They have tones that touch and search The hearts of young and old. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

435:Standing with reluctant feet Where the brook and river meet; Womanhood and childhood fleet. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ~ D E Stevenson,

436:The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

437:Night after night, He sat and bleared his eyes with books. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Christus, The Golden Legend (1872), Part I.,

438:See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

439:Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves
that break upon the idle seashore of the mind. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

440:If a woman shows too often the Medusa's head, she must not be astonished if her lover is turned into stone. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

441:All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them, but what is universal. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

442:God's voice was not in the earthquake, Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

443:They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

444:Take this sorrow to thy heart and make it part of thee, and it shall nourish thee till thou art strong again. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

445:No one is so accursed by fate, no one so utterly desolate, but some heart though unknown responds unto his own. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

446:Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

447:The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

448:The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Morituri Salutamus (1875).,

449:The true poet is a friendly man. He takes to his arms even cold and inanimate things, and rejoices in his heart. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

450:We often excuse our own want of philanthropy by giving the name of fanaticism to the more ardent zeal of others. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

451:Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

452:It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

453:It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

454:And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

455:Every man has a paradise around him till he sins, and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

456:Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

457:If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it;
Every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

458:Sculpture is more than painting. It is greater To raise the dead to life than to create Phantoms that seem to live. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

459:Stars of earth, these golden flowers; emblems of our own great resurrection; emblems of the bright and better land. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

460:The life of man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams but in active charity and in willing service. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

461:The poor too often turn away unheard, From hearts that shut against them with a sound That will be heard in heaven. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

462:Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

463:Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

464:In the mouths of many men soft words are like roses that soldiers put into the muzzles of their muskets on holidays. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

465:Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate, Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

466:Like a French poem is life; being only perfect in structure when with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

467:Live up to the best that is in you: Live noble lives, as you all may, in whatever condition you may find yourselves. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

468:So Nature deals with us, and takes
away
Our playthings one by one, and by the
hand
Leads us to rest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

469:Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

470:A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

471:Every heart has its secret sorrows which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

472:In the elder days of art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part, For the Gods are everywhere ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

473:Men of genius are often dull and inert in society; as the blazing meteor, when it descends to earth, is only a stone. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

474:Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

475:Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east-wind was his breath. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

476:Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

477:Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

478:The life of a man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams, but in active charity and in willing service. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

479:Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

480:Build today, then strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure. Shall tomorrow find its place. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

481:In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

482:Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Kavanagh: A Tale (1849), Chapter XIII.,

483:These are the woes of Slaves;
They glare from the abyss;
They cry, from unknown graves,
"We are the Witnesses! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

484:The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

485: Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

486:O Music! language of the soul, Of love, of God to man; Bright beam from heaven thrilling, That lightens sorrow's weight. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

487:Prayer is innocence's friend; and willingly flieth incessant 'twist the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

488:Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

489: And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

490:Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

491:I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

492:My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

493:Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o’er our fears, are all with thee – are all with thee! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

494:The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

495:Wisely the Hebrews admit no Present tense in their language;
While we are speaking the word, it is is already the Past. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

496:Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn; We shudder for a moment, then awake In the broad sunshine of the other life. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

497:Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

498:Love is a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than animate faith and love, as flowers are the animate springtide. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

499:O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but play; Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

500:All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

501:Believe me, every man has his secret sorrows, which the world knows not; and oftimes we call a man cold when he is only sad. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

502:Many have genius, but, wanting art, are forever dumb. The two must go together to form the great poet, painter, or sculptor. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

503:Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, / Is our destined end or way, / But to act, that each to-morrow / Find us farther than today. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

504:Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

505:There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

506:Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

507:But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages, Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

508:O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

509:The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

510:How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

511:Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

512:The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

513:In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods are everywhere ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

514:Let us, then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

515:Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

516:O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

517:The Mormons make the marriage ring, like the ring of Saturn, fluid, not solid, and keep it in its place by numerous satellites. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

518:There is no light in earth or heaven but the cold light of stars; and the first watch of night is given to the red planet Mars. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

519:'Tis always morning somewhere, and aboveThe awakening continents, from shore to shore,Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

520:Ah! What would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

521:Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

522:Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest". ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

523:Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

524:The Laws of Nature are just, but terrible. There is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are inseparable and inevitable. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

525:Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

526:Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

527:O thou sculptor, painter, poet! Take this lesson to thy heart: That is best which lieth nearest; Shape from that thy work of art. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

528:Burn, O evening hearth, and waken Pleasant visions, as of old! Though the house by winds be shaken, Safe I keep this room of gold! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

529:Happy, thrice happy, every one Who sees his labor well begun, And not perplexed and multiplied, By idly waiting for time and tide! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

530:Man is always more than he can know of himself; consequently, his accomplishments, time and again, will come as a surprise to him. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

531:The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

532:Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

533:Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

534:My soul is full of longing
for the secret of the sea,
and the heart of the great ocean
sends a thrilling pulse through me. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

535:Nature paints not; In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven; With sunsets, and the lovely forms of clouds; And flying vapors. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

536:This is the place. Stand still, my steed,- Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that once have been. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

537:A great sorrow, like a mariner's quadrant, brings the sun at noon down to the horizon, and we learn where we are on the sea of life. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

538:All things are symbols: the external shows Of Nature have their image in the mind , As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

539:And oft the blessed time foretells
When all men shall be free;
And musical, as silver bells,
Their falling chains shall be. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

540:The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full of flowers. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

541:Trust no future, however pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act -- act in the living Present! Heart within and God overhead. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

542:Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts are thoughts of me. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

543:Chill air and wintry winds! My ear has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

544:Critics are sentinels in the grand army of letters, stationed at the corners of newspapers and reviews, to challenge every new author. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

545:I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

546:Not in the clamor of the crowded street,
Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng,
But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

547:Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

548: STILL stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

549:Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep, All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, and all is o'er, A plunge, a bubble, and no more. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

550:Every author has the whole past to contend with; all the centuries are upon him. He is compared with Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

551:I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

552:I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

553:Nor deem the irrevocable Past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

554:Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of might be, a psychological romance of possibilities and things that do not happen. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

555:Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

556:Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

557:Perseverance is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

558:Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

559:Ah! What would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

560:If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

561:Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

562:Perserverence is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

563:Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

564:Trouble is the next best thing to enjoyment; there is no fate in the world so horrible as to have no share in either its joys or sorrows. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

565:If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

566:Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay; Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For oh, it is not always May! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

567:We have not wings we cannot soar; but, we have feet to scale and climb, by slow degrees, by more and more, the cloudy summits of our time. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

568:We waste our best years in distilling the sweetest flowers of life into potions which, after all, do not immortalize, but only intoxicate. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

569:There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

570:Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

571:By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

572:I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

573:It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

574:Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

575:And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and silently steal away. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

576:In what a forge and what a heat were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock; 'Tis of the wave and not the rock. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

577:It is Lucifer, The son of mystery; And since God suffers him to be, He too, is God's minister, And labors for some good By us not understood. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

578:There is no flock, however watched and tended, but one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside howsoe'er defended, but has one vacant chair. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

579:Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

580:Build me straight. O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

581:I am never indifferent, and never pretend to be, to what people say or think of my books. They are my children, and I like to have them liked. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

582:Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

583:A young critic is like a boy with a gun; he fires at every living thing he sees. He thinks only of his own skill, not of the pain he is giving. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

584:I am weary of your quarrels,
Weary of your wars and bloodshed,
Weary of your prayers for vengeance,
Of your wranglings and dissensions ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

585:I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

586:Resolve, and thou art free. But breathe the air
Of mountains, and their unapproachable summits
Will lift thee to the level of themselves. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

587:Take them, O Death! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own! Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Doth give thee that, but that alone! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

588:We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

589:O suffering, sad humanity! O ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, yet afraid to die, Patient, though sorely tried! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

590:Youth, hope, and love: To build a new life on a ruined life, To make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a troubled dream. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

591:Now to rivulets from the mountains Point the rods of fortune-tellers; Youth perpetual dwells in fountains, Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

592:O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river Linger to kiss thy feet! O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever The world more fair and sweet. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

593:Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn; Something with passion clasp, or perish And in itself to ashes burn. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

594:Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

595:Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

596:There's not a ship that sails the ocean, But every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small, And help to build the wooden wall! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

597:Sail on ship of state, sail on, I union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, with all its hopes of future years, is hanging on thy fate! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

598:By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

599:A man must be of a very quiet and happy nature, who can long endure the country; and, moreover, very well contented with his own insignificant person. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

600:Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

601:With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought; they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

602:And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
and silently steal away. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

603:Bell, thou soundest merrily, When the bridal party To the church doth hie! Bell, thou soundest solemnly, When, on Sabbath morning, Fields deserted lie! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

604:Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, to some good angel leave the rest; For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nest! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

605:Our blossoms of passion, gay and luxuriant flowers, are bright and full of fragrance, but they beguile us and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

606:The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they, while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

607:Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

608:I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

609:If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~ Wendy T Behary,

610:Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

611:I dislike an eye that twinkles like a star. Those only are beautiful which, like the planets, have a steady lambent light, are luminous, but not sparkling. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

612:The swallow is come! The swallow is come! O, fair are the seasons, and light Are the days that she brings, With her dusky wings, And her bosom snowy white! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

613:If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each [person’s] life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm any hostility. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~ Rick Hanson,

614:Kita menilai diri kita sendiri dari segala sesuatu yang kita rasa mampu kita lakukan,
Sedangkan orang lain menilai kita dari apa yang telah kita lakukan. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

615:The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained in sudden flight but, they while their companions slept, they were toiling upwards in the night. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

616:If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882) ~ Joe C,

617:I ploughed the land with horses,
But my heart was ill at ease,
For the old seafaring men
Came to me now and then,
With their sagas of the seas. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

618:It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought! Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery; we build where monsters used to hide themselves. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

619:The sun is set; and in his latest beams Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, The falling mantle of the Prophet seems. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

620:Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

621:In December ring Every day the chimes; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

622:The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

623:All nature ... is a respiration Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing hereafter Will inhale it into his bosom again, So that nothing but God alone will remain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

624:For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

625:Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, All my dreams, come back to me. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Secret of the Sea ~ Julianne MacLean,

626:Buried was the bloody hatchet; Buried was the dreadful war-club; Buried were all warlike weapons, And the war-cry was forgotten. Then was peace among the nations. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

627:He had mittens, Minjekahwun, Magic mittens made of deer-skin; When upon his hands he wore them, He could smite the rocks asunder, He could grind them into powder. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

628:Even the blackest of them all, the crow, Renders good service as your man-at-arms, Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail. And crying havoc on the slug and snail. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

629:Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

630:Magnificent autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds; not like a hermit, clad in gray; but like a warrior with the stain of blood in his brazen mail. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

631:Many people do not allow their principles to take root, but pull them up every now and then, as children do the flowers they have planted, to see if they are growing. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

632:The heights by great men reached and kept, Were not attained by sudden flight. But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.” –Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~ John Wooden,

633:Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

634:As Unto the bow the the cord is , So unto the man is woman; Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him , yet she follows: Useless each without the other. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

635:How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams with its illusions, aspirations, dreams! Book of Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

636:A word that has been said may be unsaid-it is but air. But when a deed is done, it cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

637:Each new epoch in life seems an encounter. There is a tussle and a cloud of dust, and we come out of it triumphant or crest-fallen, according as we have borne ourselves. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

638:How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams with its illusions, aspirations, dreams! Book of Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

639:The course of my long life hath reached at last in fragile bark over a tempestuous sea the common harbor, where must rendered be account for all the actions of the past. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

640:I saw the long line of the vacant shore, The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand, And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, As if the ebbing tide would flow no more. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

641:Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without number Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only. Only to love and to be loved again. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

642:The pleasant books, that silently among Our household treasures take familiar places, And are to us as if a living tongue Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

643:The tragic element in poetry is like Saturn in alchemy, the Malevolent, the Destroyer of Nature ; but without it no true Aurum Potabile, or Elixir of Life, can be made. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

644:But ah! what once has been shall be no more! The groaning earth in travail and in pain Brings forth its races, but does not restore, And the dead nations never rise again. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

645:I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths of literature,--in the genial Summertime. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

646:Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, a shadow on those features fair and thin. And softly, from the hushed and darkened room, two angels issued, where but one went in. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

647:The student has his Rome, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

648:What discord should we bring into the universe if our prayers were all answered! Then we should govern the world, and not God. And do you think we should govern it better? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

649:Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

650:Nothing that is can pause or stay; / The moon will wax, the moon will wane, / The mist and cloud will turn to rain, / The rain to mist and cloud again, / Tomorrow be today. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

651:For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

652:Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

653:The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

654:Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

655:In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face the face of one long dead Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

656:But the nearer the dawn the darker the night, And by going wrong all things come right. Things have been mended that were worse, and the the worse, the nearer they are to mend. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

657:Oh, what a glory doth this world put on, for him who with a fervent heart goes forth under the bright and glorious sky, and looks on duties well performed, and days well spent. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

658:Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

659:Then followed that beautiful season... Summer.... Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

660:Think of your woods and orchards without birds! Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams As in an idiot's brain remembered words Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

661:I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

662:The highest exercise of imagination is not to devise what has no existence, but rather to perceive what really exists, though unseen by the outward eye-not creation, but insight. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

663:The first pressure of sorrow crushes out from our hearts the best wine; afterwards the constant weight of it brings forth bitterness, the taste and stain from the lees of the vat. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

664:Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

665:A spirit of criticism, if indulged in, leads to a censoriousness of disposition that is destructive of all nobler feeling. The man who lives to find faults has a miserable mission. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

666:As Unto the bow the the cord is ,
So unto the man is woman;
Though she bends him, she obeys him,
Though she draws him , yet she follows:
Useless each without the other. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

667:Each day is a branch of the Tree of Life laden heavily with fruit. If we lie down lazily beneath it, we may starve; but if we shake the branches, some of the fruit will fall for us. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

668:Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are the happiest, For those that wander they know not where Are full of trouble and full of care; To stay at home is best. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

669:That tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms on it than it now bears. That tree grows new wood each year. Like that apple tree, I try to grow a new little wood each year. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

670:Then followed that beautiful season... Summer....
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

671:All houses wherein men have lived and died / Are haunted houses. Through the open doors / The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, / With feet that make no sound upon the floors. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

672:Big words do not smite like war-clubs, Boastful breath is not a bow-string, Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, Deeds are better things than words are, Actions mightier than boastings. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

673:Leaving us heirs to amplest heritages Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages, And giving tongues unto the silent dead! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Sonnet on Mrs. Kemble's Reading from Shakespeare.,

674:White swan of cities slumbering in thy nest . . . White phantom city, whose untrodden streets Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting Shadows of the palaces and strips of sky. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

675:If the mind, that rules the body, ever so far forgets itself as to trample on its slave, the slave is never generous enough to forgive the injury, but will rise and smite the oppressor. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

676:The student has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

677:Think of your woods and orchards without birds!
Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams
As in an idiot's brain remembered words
Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

678:The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall be, The things that might have been, and yet were not, The fading twilight of joys departed. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

679:If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me? If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

680:Kind messages, that pass from land to land; Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand,-- One touch of fire,--and all the rest is mystery! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

681:Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. By dropping golden beads near a snake, a crow once managed To have a passer-by kill the snake for the beads. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

682:Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

683:If the mind, which rules the body, ever forgets itself so far as to trample upon its slave, the slave is never generous enough to forgive the injury, but will rise and smite its oppressor. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

684:The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, While underneath such leafy tents they keep The long, mysterious Exodus of Death. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

685:Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

686:Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

687:Autumn arrives like a warrior with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

688:Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavor for the selfsame ends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

689:Many critics are like woodpeckers, who, instead of enjoying the fruit and shadow of a tree, hop incessantly around the trunk, pecking holes in the bark to discover some little worm or other. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

690:Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

691:There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

692:Ah, how skilful grows the hand That obeyeth Love’s command! It is the heart, and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain, And he who followeth Love’s behest Far excelleth all the rest! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

693:A propósito de ello escribió Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: «Cada hombre tiene algún pesar secreto, el cual el mundo no conoce; y a menudo tildamos a un hombre de frío cuando tan sólo está triste». ~ Elizabeth Clare Prophet,

694:One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm For the country folk to be up and to arm. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

695:The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

696:Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

697:What child has a heart to sing in this capricious clime of ours, when spring comes sailing in from the sea, with wet and heavy cloud-sails and the misty pennon of the east-wind nailed to the mast. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

698:Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning - an endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea by measuring the distance we have run, but without any observation of the heavenly bodies. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

699:Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions contending; Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding, Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings of duty! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

700:Our ingress into the world was naked and bare; our progress through the world is trouble and care; our egress from the world will be nobody knows where; but if we do well here we shall do well there. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

701:Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings The Spring, clothed like a bride, When nestling buds unfold their wings, And bishop's-caps have golden rings, Musing upon many things, I sought the woodlands wide. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

702:A coquette is a young lady of more beauty than sense, more accomplishments than learning, more charms not person than graces of mind, more admirers than friends, mole fools than wise men for attendants. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

703:See yonder fire! It is the moon slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, and through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, and makes the heart in love with night. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

704:There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

705:Who has searched or sought
All the unexplored and spacious
Universe of thought?
Who, in his own skill confiding,
Shall with rule and line
Mark the border-land dividing
Human and divine? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

706:The shadows of the mind are like those of the body. In the morning of life they all lie behind us; at noon we trample them under foot; and in the evening they stretch long, broad, and deepening before us. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

707:Among the noblest in the land - Though man may count himself the least - That man I honor and revere, Who without favor, without fear, In the great city dares to stand, The friend of every friendless beast. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

708:An enlightened mind is not hoodwinked; it is not shut up in a gloomy prison till it thinks the walls of its dungeon the limits of the universe, and the reach of its own chain the outer verge of intelligence. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

709:The heights by which great men reach are not attained by sudden flight, but they while their companions slept went toiling upwards through the night.

It may not be exact but it always how I remember it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

710:I will be a man among men; and no longer a dreamer among shadows. Henceforth be mine a life of action and reality! I will work in my own sphere, nor wish it other than it is. This alone is health and happiness. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

711:O little souls! as pure as white And crystalline as rays of light Direct from heaven, their source divine; Refracted through the mist of years, How red my setting sun appears, How lurid looks this soul of mine! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

712:Thus, seamed with many scars Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland! skoal! Thus the tale ended. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

713:Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care of your garden And keep out the weeds, Fill it with sunshine, Kind words, and Kind deeds. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

714:The secret studies of an author are the sunken piers upon which is to rest the bridge of his fame, spanning the dark waters of oblivion. They are out of sight, but without them no superstructure can stand secure. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

715:The hearts of some women tremble like leaves at every breath of love which reaches them, and they are still again. Others, like the ocean, are moved only by the breath of a storm, and not so easily lulled to rest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

716:No man is so poor as that. As well might the mountain streamlets say they have nothing worth giving to the sea, because they are not rivers. Give what you have. To some one, it may be better than you dare to think. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

717:The pleasant books, that silently among Our household treasures take familiar places, And are to us as if a living tongue Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Seaside and Fireside, Dedication.,

718:The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, and doing well whatever you do without thought of fame. If it comes at all it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

719:O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

720:All the means of action -- the shapeless masses -- the materials -- lie everywhere about us. What we need is the celestial fire to change the flint into the transparent crystal, bright and clear. That fire is genius. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

721:Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

722:Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings - as some savage tribes determine the power of muskets by their recoil; that being considered best which fairly prostrates the purchaser. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

723:No action, whether foul or fair, Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere A record, written by fingers ghostly, As a blessing or a curse, and mostly In the greater weakness or greater strength Of the acts which follow it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

724:Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science Can from the ashes in our hearts once more The rose of youth restore? What craft of alchemy can bid defiance To time and change, and for a single hour Renew this phantom-flower? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

725:Don Quixote thought he could have made beautiful bird-cages and toothpicks if his brain had not been so full of ideas of chivalry. Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

726:Time has a doomsday book, upon whose pages he is continually recording illustrious names. But as often as a new name is written there, an old one disappears. Only a few stand in illuminated characters never to be effaced. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

727:Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the heart of Nature beat, or in the dark, gray town where he can hear and feel the throbbing heart of man? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

728:The mind of the scholar, if you would have it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds. It is better that his armor should be somewhat bruised by rude encounters even, than hang forever rusting on the wall. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

729:Alas! it is not till time, with reckless hand, has torn out half the leaves from the Book of Human Life to light the fires of passion with from day to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain are few in number. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

730:All these thoughts of love and strife
Glimmered through his lurid life,
As the stars' intenser light
Through the red flames o'er him trailing,
As his ships went sailing, sailing,
Northward in the summer night. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

731:Were a star quenched on high,For ages would its light,Still travelling downward from the sky,Shine on our mortal sight. So when a great man dies,For years beyond our ken,The light he leaves behind him liesUpon the paths of men. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

732:.... Anon from the castle walls The crescent banner falls, And the crowd beholds instead, Like a portent in the sky, Iskander's banner fly, The Black Eagle with double head. And shouts ascend on high .....'' Long live Scanderbeg. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

733:It is folly to pretend that one ever wholly recovers from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar. There are faces I can never look upon without emotion, there are names I can never hear spoken without almost starting. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

734:The morrow was a bright September morn; The earth was beautiful as if newborn; There was nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

735:In old age our bodies are worn-out instruments, on which the soul tries in vain to play the melodies of youth. But because the instrument has lost its strings, or is out of tune, it does not follow that the musician has lost his skill. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

736:I venerate old age; and I love not the man who can look without emotion upon the sunset of life, when the dusk of evening begins to gather over the watery eye, and the shadows of twilight grow broader and deeper upon the understanding. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

737:Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

738:There rises the moon, broad and tranquil, through the branches of a walnut tree on a hill opposite. I apostrophize it in the words of Faust; "O gentle moon, that lookest for the last time upon my agonies!" --or something to that effect. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

739:Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

740:Weak minds make treaties with the passions they cannot overcome, and try to purchase happiness at the expense of principle; but the resolute will of a strong man scorns such means, and struggles nobly with his foe to achieve great deeds. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

741:Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

742:Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, All solemn Voices of the Night, That can soothe thee, or affright, - Be these henceforth thy theme. (excerpt from "Voices of the Night") ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

743:Truths that startled the generation in which they were first announced become in the next age the commonplaces of conversation; as the famous airs of operas which thrilled the first audiences come to be played on hand-organs in the streets. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

744:The bells themselves are the best of preachers, Their brazen lips are learned teachers, From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, Shriller than trumpets under the Law, Now a sermon and now a prayer. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

745:Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

746:Every man must patiently bide his time. He must wait -- not in listless idleness but in constant, steady, cheerful endeavors, always willing and fulfilling and accomplishing his task, that when the occasion comes he may be equal to the occasion. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

747:The sentence of the first murderer was pronounced by the Supreme Judge of the universe. Was it death? No, it was life. 'A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth'; and 'Whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

748:After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And touching all the darksome woods with light, Smiles on the fields until they laugh and sing, Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring, Drops down into the night. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

749:Doubtless criticism was originally benignant, pointing out the beauties of a work rather that its defects. The passions of men have made it malignant, as a bad heart of Procreates turned the bed, the symbol of repose, into an instrument of torture. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

750:There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

751:How can I teach your children gentleness and mercy to the weak, and reverence for life, which in its nakedness and excess, is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, when by your laws, your actions and your speech, you contradict the very things I teach? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

752:More and more do I feel, as I advance in life, how little we really know of each other. Friendship seems to me like the touch of musical-glasses--it is only contact; but the glasses themselves, and their contents, remain quite distinct and unmingled. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

753:So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go, Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

754:How wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul. The intellect of man is enthroned visibly on his forehead and in his eye, and the heart of man is written on his countenance, but the soul, the soul reveals itself in the voice only. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

755:I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon, In the round-tower of my heart, And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in the dust away! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

756:The history of the past is a mere puppet-show. A little man comes out and blows a little trumpet, and goes in again. You look for something new, and lo! another little man comes out, and blows another little trumpet, and goes in again. And it is all over. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

757:If thou art worn and hard beset,
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget;
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

758:It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes and roofs of villages, on woodland crests and their aerial neighborhoods of nests deserted, on the curtained window-panes of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes and harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

759:Great men die and are forgotten,
Wise men speak; their words of wisdom
Perish in the ears that hear them,
Do not reach the generations
That, as yet unborn, are waiting
In the great, mysterious darkness
Of the speechless days that shall be! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

760:I promise myself great pleasure from my visit to England. You know I am to stay with Dickens while in London; and beside his own very agreeable society, I shall enjoy that of the most noted literary men of the day, which will be a great gratification to me. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

761:It is the mystery of the unknown
That fascinates us; we are children still
Wayward and wistful; with one hand we cling
To the familiar things we call our own,
And with the other, resolute of will,
Grope in the dark for what the day will bring ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

762:Oh, how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded, day, descending upon earth with dews and shadows and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long mild twilight, which, like a silver clasp, unites today with yesterday! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

763:Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature, That fashions all her works in high relief, And that is Sculpture. This vast ball, the Earth, Was moulded out of clay, and baked in fire; Men, women, and all animals that breathe Are statues, and not paintings. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

764:Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken up thy lamp and gone to bed; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

765:There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion
that if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret,
Spilled on the ground like water, can never be gathered together. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

766:What is time? The shadow on the dial, the striking of the clock, the running of the sand, day and night, summer and winter, months, years, centuries-these are but arbitrary and outward signs, the measure of Time, not Time itself. Time is the Life of the Soul. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

767:Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

768:Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the Hereafter! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

769:Look, then, into thine heart, and write!
Yes, into Life's deep stream!
All forms of sorrow and delight,
All solemn Voices of the Night,
That can soothe thee, or affright, -
Be these henceforth thy theme.

(excerpt from "Voices of the Night") ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

770:O, never from the memory of my heart
Your dear, paternal image shall depart,
Who while on earth, ere yet by death surprised,
Taught me how mortals are immortalized;
How grateful am I for that patient care
All my life long my language shall declare. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

771:Then from the neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

772:...Tis the center to which all gravitates. One finds no rest elswhere than here. There may be other cities that please us for a while, but Rome alone completely satisfies. It becomes to all a second native land by predilection, and not by accident of birth alone. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

773:Midnight! the outpost of advancing day!
The frontier town and citadel of night!
The watershed of Time, from which the streams
Of Yesterday and To-morrow take their way,
One to the land of promise and of light,
One to the land of darkness and of dreams! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

774:Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

775:Simplicity is the character of the spring of life, costliness becomes its autumn; but a neatness and purity, like that of the snow-drop or lily of the valley, is the peculiar fascination of beauty, to which it lends enchantment, and gives what amiability is to the mind. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

776:Write on your doors the saying wise and old,
"Be bold! be bold!" and everywhere-- "Be bold;
Be not too bold!" Yet better the excess
Than the defect; better the more than less;
Better like Hector in the field to die,
Than like a perfumed Paris turn and fly, ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

777:Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all things Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of friendship. It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare it: I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with you always. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

778:So disasters come not singly; But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wiseRound their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

779:More hearts are breaking in this world of ours Than one would say. In distant villages And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage Scattered them in their flight, do they take root, And grow in silence, and in silence perish. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

780:When thou are not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and darkened, As the shining river darkens When the clouds drop shadows on it! When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is brightened, As in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind makes in rivers. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

781:Even He that died for us upon the cross, in the last hour, in the unutterable agony of death, was mindful of His mother, as if to teach us that this holy love should be our last worldly thought - the last point of earth from which the soul should take its flight for heaven. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

782:I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

783:Quotes about Life Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, and things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art; to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

784:To be infatuated with the power of one's own intellect is an accident which seldom happens but to those who are remarkable for the want of intellectual power. Whenever Nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

785:I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon,
In the round-tower of my heart,
And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in the dust away! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

786:There in seclusion and remote from men The wizard hand lies cold, Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, And left the tale half told. Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power, And the lost clew regain? The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower Unfinished must remain! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

787:The foods that prolong life and increase purity, vigour, health, cheerfulness, and happiness are those that are delicious, soothing, substantial and agreeable... Foods that are bitter, sour, salt, over-hot, pungent, dry and burning produce unhappiness, repentance and disease. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

788:I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it. I stand in awe of my own opinion. The secret demerits of which we alone, perhaps, are conscious, are often more difficult to bear than those which have been publicly censured in us, and thus in some degree atoned for. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

789:I feel a kind of reverence for the first books of young authors. There is so much aspiration in them, so much audacious hope and trembling fear, so much of the heart's history, that all errors and shortcomings are for a while lost sight of in the amiable self assertion of youth. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

790:I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

791: Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike, Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

792:For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, In sombre harness mailed, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, The rampart wall has scaled. He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, The dark and silent room, And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, The silence and the gloom. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

793:Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives,
When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives,
Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain,
But never will be sung to us again,
Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest
Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

794:Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

795:Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be! For gentleness and love and trust Prevail o'er angry wave and gust; And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

796:This will be a great day in our history; the date of a New Revolution - quite as much needed as the old one. Even now as I write they are leading old John Brown to execution in Virginia for attempting to rescue slaves! This is sowing the wind to reap the whirlwind which will come soon! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

797:Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

798:Awake! arise! the hour is late!
Angels are knocking at thy door!
They are in haste and cannot wait,
And once departed come no more.
Awake! arise! the athlete's arm
Loses its strength by too much rest;
The fallow land, the untilled farm
Produces only weeds at best. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

799:The motives and purposes of authors are not always so pure and high, as, in the enthusiasm of youth, we sometimes imagine. To many the trumpet of fame is nothing but a tin horn to call them home, like laborers from, the field, at dinner-time, and they think themselves lucky to get the dinner. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

800:I feel a kind of reverence for the first books of young authors.
There is so much aspiration in them,
so much audacious hope and trembling fear,
so much of the heart's history, that all errors
and shortcomings are for a while lost sight of
in the amiable self assertion of youth. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

801:Some critics are like chimney-sweepers; they put out the fire below, and frighten the swallows from their nests above; they scrape a long time in the chimney, cover themselves with soot, and bring nothing away but a bag of cinders, and then sing from the top of the house as if they had built it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

802:What heart has not acknowledged the influence of this hour, the sweet and soothing hour of twilight, the hour of love, the hour of adoration, the hour of rest, when we think of those we love only to regret that we have not loved them more dearly, when we remember our enemies only to forgive them. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

803:When thou are not pleased, beloved,
Then my heart is sad and darkened,
As the shining river darkens
When the clouds drop shadows on it!

When thou smilest, my beloved,
Then my troubled heart is brightened,
As in sunshine gleam the ripples
That the cold wind makes in rivers. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

804:So disasters come not singly;
But as if they watched and waited,
Scanning one another’s motions,
When the first descends, the others
Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise
Round their victim, sick and wounded,
First a shadow, then a sorrow,
Till the air is dark with anguish. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

805:The everyday cares and duties, which men call drudgery, are the weights and counterpoises of the clock of time, giving its pendulum a true vibration and its hands a regular motion; and when they cease to hang upon its wheels, the pendulum no longer swings, the hands no longer move the clock stands still. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

806:And in despair I bowed my head; "There is no peace on earth," I said; "For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: "God is not dead, nor doth he sleep! The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

807:For it is the fate of a woman Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers Runnng through caverns of darkness. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

808:To be seventy years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then you sit down and meditate and wonder which it will be. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

809:The natural alone is permanent. Fantastic idols may be worshipped for a while; but at length they are overturned by the continual and silent progress of Truth, as the grim statues of Copan have been pushed from their pedestals by the growth of forest-trees, whose seeds were sown by the wind in the ruined walls. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

810:A stiff letter galls one like a stiff shirt collar -- whilst a sheet garnished here and there with a careless blot -- and here and there a dash -- but in the main full of excellent matter, is like a clever fellow in a dirty shirt whom we value for the good humour he brings with him and not for the garb he wears. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

811:The moon is hidden behind a cloud... On the leaves is a sound of falling rain... No other sounds than these I hear; The hour of midnight must be near... So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: I will go down to the chapel and pray. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

812: All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank thee! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

813:The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. Shadows of evening fall around us, and the world seems but a dim reflection - itself a broader shadow. We look forward into the coming lonely night. The soul withdraws into itself. Then stars arise, and the night is holy. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

814:Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest art of all the arts. Painting and sculpture are but images, Are merely shadows cast by outward things On stone or canvas, having in themselves No separate existence. Architecture, Existing in itself, and not in seeming A something it is not, surpasses them As substance shadow. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

815:...for it is the fate of a woman
Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless,
Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence.
Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women
Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers
Runnng through caverns of darkness... ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

816:O ye dead Poets, who are living still Immortal in your verse, though life be fled, And ye, O living Poets, who are dead Though ye are living, if neglect can kill, Tell me if in the darkest hours of ill, With drops of anguish falling fast and red From the sharp crown of thorns upon your head, Ye were not glad your errand to fulfill? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

817:Men should soon make up their minds to be forgotten, and look about them, or within them, for some higher motive in what they do than the approbation of men, which is fame, namely, their duty; that they should be constantly and quietly at work, each in his sphere, regardless of effects, and leaving their fame to take care of itself. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

818:And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
the Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

819:Art is the child of Nature; yes, Her darling child, in whom we trace The features of the mother's face, Her aspect and her attitude, All her majestic loveliness Chastened and softened and subdued Into a more attractive grace, And with a human sense imbued. He is the greatest artist, then, Whether of pencil or of pen, Who follows Nature. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

820: Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever, Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors, Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

821:Welcome, Disappointment! Thy hand is cold and hard, but it is the hand of a friend. Thy voice is stern and harsh, but it is the voice of a friend. Oh, there is something sublime in calm endurance, something sublime in the resolute, fixed purpose of suffering without complaining, which makes disappointment oftentimes better than success! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

822:Authors have a greater right than any copyright, though it is generally unacknowledged or disregarded. They have a right to the reader's civility. There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it, and to these the author has a claim. Yet many people think that when they buy a book they buy with it the right to abuse the author. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

823:By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis,
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them;
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

824:Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet; This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey. Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert, Such in the soul of man is faith. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

825:His imagination seemed still to exhaust itself in running, before it tried to leap the ditch. While he mused, the fire burned in other brains. Other hands wrote the books he dreamed about. He freely used his good ideas in conversation, and in letters; and they were straightway wrought into the texture of other men's books, and so lost to him for ever. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

826:Solemnly, mournfully, Dealing its dole, The Curfew Bell Is beginning to toll. Cover the embers, And put out the light; Toil comes with morning, And rest with the night. Dark grow the windows, And quenched is the fire; Sound fades into silence,— All footsteps retire. No voice in the chambers, No sound in the hall! Sleep and oblivion Reign over all! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. ~ Various,

827:Poor, deluded Shawondasee!
'T was no woman that you gazed at,
'T was no maiden that you sighed for,
'T was the prairie dandelion
That through all the dreamy Summer
You had gazed at with such longing,
You had sighed for with such passion,
And had puffed away forever,
Blown into the air with sighing.
Ah! deluded Shawondasee! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

828:And the smoke rose slowly, slowly,
Through the tranquil air of morning,
First a single line of darkness,
Then a denser, bluer vapor,
Then a snow-white cloud unfolding,
Like the tree-tops of the forest,
Ever rising, rising, rising,
Till it touched the top of heaven,
Till it broke against the heaven,
And rolled outward all around it. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

829:What discord we should bring into the universe if our prayers were all answered. Then we should govern the world and not God. And do you think we should govern it better? It gives me only pain when I hear the long, wearisome petitions of people asking for they know not what. . . . Thanks-giving with a full heart-and the rest silence and submission to the divine will! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

830:Let us labor for an inward stillness-- An inward stillness and an inward healing. That perfect silence where the lips and heart Are still, and we no longer entertain Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions, But God alone speaks to us and we wait In singleness of heart that we may know His will, and in the silence of our spirits, That we may do His will and do that only ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

831:Have you read these poets? Langston Hughes Charles Bukowski John Keats Alfred Lord Tennyson Percy Bysshe Shelley Henry Wadsworth Longfellow William Butler Yeats William Blake Rudyard Kipling Roald Dahl Khalil Gibran Paul Laurence Dunbar Kabir Robert W Service Philip Larkin Dylan Thomas Henry Lawson Anne Sexton Allen Ginsberg Ogden Nash
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Help / Contact us
,

832:This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

833:Yes, Death brings us again to our friends. They are waiting for us, and we shall not long delay. They have gone before us, and are like the angels in heaven. They stand near the borders of the grave to welcome us, with the countenance of affection, which they wore on earth; yet more lovely, more radiant, more spiritual! O, he spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

834:There is no Death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.

She is not dead,--the child of our affection,--
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.

Excerpt from the poem "Resignation" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

835: Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,— Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

836:Thus it is our daughters leave us,
Those we love, and those who love us!
Just when they have learned to help us,
When we are old and lean upon them,
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers,
With his flute of reeds, a stranger
Wanders piping through the village,
Beckons to the fairest maiden,
And she follows where he leads her,
Leaving all things for the stranger! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

837:Let us labor for an inward stillness--
An inward stillness and an inward healing.
That perfect silence where the lips and heart
Are still, and we no longer entertain
Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions,
But God alone speaks to us and we wait
In singleness of heart that we may know
His will, and in the silence of our spirits,
That we may do His will and do that only ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

838:Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without number
Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only
Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed forth his spirit
Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its
Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven
Quench, oh quench not that flame! It is the breath of your being ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

839:In the life of every man there are sudden transitions of feeling, which seem almost miraculous. At once, as if some magician had touched the heavens and the earth, the dark clouds melt into the air, the wind falls, and serenity succeeds the storm. The causes which produce these changes may have been long at work within us, but the changes themselves are instantaneous, and apparently without sufficient cause. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

840:Perhaps the chief cause which has retarded the progress of poetry in America, is the want of that exclusive cultivation, which so noble a branch of literature would seem to require. Few here think of relying upon the exertion of poetic talent for a livelihood, and of making literature the profession of life. The bar or the pulpit claims the greater part of the scholar's existence, and poetry is made its pastime. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

841:The warriors that fought for their country, and bled, Have sunk to their rest; the damp earth is their bed; No stone tells the place where their ashes repose, Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes. They died in their glory, surrounded by fame, And Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim; They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

842:In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take the great world in our arms and kiss it. Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire will neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts; and all without and within is dismal, cold, and dark. Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

843:I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

844:How absolute and omnipotent is the silence of night! And yet the stillness seems almost audible! From all the measureless depths of air around us comes a half-sound, a half-whisper, as if we could hear the crumbling and falling away of earth and all created things, in the great miracle of nature, decay and reproduction, ever beginning, never ending,--the gradual lapse and running of the sand in the great hour-glass of Time. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

845:Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solenm main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

846:Some feelings are quite untranslatable; no language has yet been found for them. They gleam upon us beautifully through the dim twilight of fancy, and yet when we bring them close to us, and hold them up to the light of reason, lose their beauty all at once, as glow worms which gleam with such a spiritual light in the shadows of evening, when brought in where the candles are lighted, are found to be only worms like so many others. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

847:Anon from the castle walls
The crescent banner falls,
And the crowd beholds instead,
Like a portent in the sky,
Iskander's banner fly,
The Black Eagle with double head;
And a shout ascends on high,
For men's souls are tired of the Turks,
And their wicked ways and works,
That have made of Ak-Hissar
A city of the plague;
And the loud, exultant cry
That echoes wide and far
Is: "Long live Scanderbeg! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

848:Ye who love the haunts of Nature,
Love the sunshine of the meadow,
Love the shadow of the forest,
Love the wind among the branches,
And the rain-shower and the snow-storm,
And the rushing of great rivers
Through their palisades of pine-trees,
And the thunder in the mountains,
Whose innumerable echoes
Flap like eagles in their eyries;-
Listen to these wild traditions,
To this Song of Hiawatha! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

849:If Spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change! But now the silent succession suggests nothing but necessity. To most men only the cessation of the miracle would be miraculous and the perpetual exercise of God’s power seems less wonderful than its withdrawal would be. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

850:The Laws of Nature are just, but terrible. There is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are inseparable and inevitable. The elements have no forbearance. The fire burns, the water drowns, the air consumes, the earth buries. And perhaps it would be well for our race if the punishment of crimes against the Laws of Man were as inevitable as the punishment of crimes against the Laws of Nature -were Man as unerring in his judgments as Nature. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

851:Loss and Gain

When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained,
What I have missed with what attained,
Little room do I find for pride.

I am aware
How many days have been idly spent;
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside.

But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

852:To-day, to-morrow, every day, to thousands the end of the world is close at hand. And why should we fear it? We walk here, as it were, in the crypts of life; at times, from the great cathedral above us, we can hear the organ and the chanting choir; we see the light stream through the open door, when some friend goes up before us; and shall we fear to mount the narrow staircase of the grave that leads us out of this uncertain twilight into life eternal? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

853:The little I have seen of the world teaches me to look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger. When I take the history of one poor heart that has sinned and suffered, and represent to myself the struggles and temptations it has passed through, the brief pulsations of joy, the feverish inquietude of hope and fear, the pressure of want, the desertion of friends, I would fain leave the erring soul of my fellow-man with Him from whose hand it came. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

854:Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. . . . He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. . . . Toiling,-rejoicing,-sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

855:Thus thought I, as by night I read Of the great army of the dead, The trenches cold and damp, The starved and frozen camp,-- The wounded from the battle-plain, In dreary hospitals of pain, The cheerless corridors, The cold and stony floors. Lo! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

856:How Beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!

How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs!
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spout!

Across the window-pane
It pours and pours;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain!

-"Rain in Summer ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

857:O, how wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul! The intellect of man sits enthroned visibly upon his forehead and in his eye; and the heart of man is written upon his countenance. But the soul reveals itself in the voice only; as God revealed himself to the prophet of old in the still, small voice; and in a voice from the burning bush. The soul of man is audible, not visible. A sound alone betrays the flowing of the eternal fountain, invisible to man! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

858:There was an old belief that in the embers
Of all things their primordial form exists,
And cunning alchemists
Could re-create the rose with all its members
From its own ashes, but without the bloom,
Without the lost perfume
Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science
Can from the ashes in our hearts once more
The rose of youth restore?
What craft of alchemy can bid defiance
To time and change, and for a single hour
Renew this phantom-flower? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

859:The Arrow and the Song

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

860:Thus thought I, as by night I read
Of the great army of the dead,
The trenches cold and damp,
The starved and frozen camp,--

The wounded from the battle-plain,
In dreary hospitals of pain,
The cheerless corridors,
The cold and stony floors.

Lo! in that house of misery
A lady with a lamp I see
Pass through the glimmering gloom
And flit from room to room.

And slow, as in a dream of bliss,
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss
Her shadow, as it falls
Upon the darkening walls. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

861:There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

862:Ah, how wonderful is the advent of the Spring!—the great annual miracle.... which no force can stay, no violence restrain, like love, that wins its way and cannot be withstood by any human power, because itself is divine power. If Spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation would there be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change!... We are like children who are astonished and delighted only by the second-hand of the clock, not by the hour-hand. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

863:What a strange picture a University presents to the imagination. The lives of scholars in their cloistered stillness;--literary men of retired habits, and Professors who study sixteen hours a day, and never see the world but on a Sunday. Nature has, no doubt, for some wise purpose, placed in their hearts this love of literary labor and seclusion. Otherwise, who would feed the undying lamp of thought? But for such men as these, a blast of wind through the chinks and crannies of this old world, or the flapping of a conqueror's banner, would blow it out forever. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

864:Nationality is a good thing to a certain extent, but universality is better. All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them, but what is universal. Their roots are in their native soil; but their branches wave in the unpatriotic air, that speaks the same language unto all men, and their leaves shine with the illimitable light that pervades all lands. Let us throw all the windows open; let us admit the light and air on all sides; that we may look towards the four corners of the heavens, and not always in the same direction. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

865:Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.Under the humble walls of the little catholic churchyard,In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed;Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever,Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy,Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors,Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

866:As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor. Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead Which, the more splendid, may not please him more; So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

867:The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

868:Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow,
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.
Under the humble walls of the little catholic churchyard,
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed;
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever,
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy,
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors,
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

869:With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas,
We sailed for the Hesperides,
The land where golden apples grow;
But that, ah! that was long ago.

How far, since then, the ocean streams
Have swept us from that land of dreams,
That land of fiction and of truth,
The lost Atlantis of our youth!

Whither, ah, whither? Are not these
The tempest-haunted Orcades,
Where sea-gulls scream, and breakers roar,
And wreck and sea-weed line the shore?

Ultima Thule! Utmost Isle!
Here in thy harbors for a while
We lower our sails; a while we rest
From the unending, endless quest. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

870:Sadly as some old mediaeval knight
Gazed at the arms he could no longer wield,
The sword two-handed and the shining shield
Suspended in the hall, and full in sight,
While secret longings for the lost delight
Of tourney or adventure in the field
Came over him, and tears but half concealed
Trembled and fell upon his beard of white,
So I behold these books upon their shelf,
My ornaments and arms of other days;
Not wholly useless, though no longer used,
For they remind me of my other self,
Younger and stronger, and the pleasant ways
In which I walked, now clouded and confused. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

871:Death takes us by surprise,
And stays our hurrying feet;
The great design unfinished lies,
Our lives are incomplete
But in the dark unknown,
Perfect their circles seem,
Even as a bridge's arch of stone
Is rounded in the stream.
Alike are life and death,
When life in death survives,
And the uninterrupted breath
Inspires a thousand lives.
Were a star quenched on high,
For ages would its light,
Still traveling downward from the sky,
Shine on our mortal sight.
So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken,
The light he leaves behind him lies
Upon the paths of men. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

872:Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound
Seems from some faint Aeolian harp-string caught;
Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes of thought
As Hermes with his lyre in sleep profound
The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus bound;
For I am weary, and am overwrought
With too much toil, with too much care distraught,
And with the iron crown of anguish crowned.
Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek,
O peaceful Sleep! until from pain released
I breathe again uninterrupted breath!
Ah, with what subtile meaning did the Greek
Call thee the lesser mystery at the feast
Whereof the greater mystery is death! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

873:All praise and honor! I confess
That bread and ale, home-baked, home-brewed
Are wholesome and nutritious food,
But not enough for all our needs;
Poets-the best of them-are birds
Of passage; where their instinct leads
They range abroad for thoughts and words
And from all climes bring home the seeds
That germinate in flowers or weeds.
They are not fowls in barnyards born
To cackle o'er a grain of corn;
And, if you shut the horizon down
To the small limits of their town,
What do you but degrade your bard
Till he at last becomes as one
Who thinks the all-encircling sun
Rises and sets in his back yard? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

874:The Rainy Day

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

875:The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

876:It is too late! Ah, nothing is too late
Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.
Cato learned Greek at eighty; Sophocles
Wrote his grand Oedipus, and Simonides
Bore off the prize of verse from his compeers,
When each had numbered more than fourscore years,
And Theophrastus, at fourscore and ten,
Had but begun his Characters of Men.
Chaucer, at Woodstock with the nightingales,
At sixty wrote the Canterbury Tales;
Goethe at Weimar, toiling to the last,
Completed Faust when eighty years were past,
These are indeed exceptions; but they show
How far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow
Into the arctic regions of our lives.
Where little else than life itself survives. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

877:Sarah Hale was every inch a superhero. Not only did she fight for Thanksgiving, she fought for playgrounds for kids, schools for girls, and historical monuments for everyone.
She argued against spanking, pie for breakfast, dull stories, corsets and bloomers and bustles, and very serious things like slavery.
As if that weren’t enough, she raised five children; wrote poetry, children’s books, novels, and biographies; was the first female magazine editor in America; published great American authors like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Edgar Allan Poe; and composed “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

How did she do all of these things?

She was bold, brave, stubborn, and smart. And Sarah Hale had a secret weapon…
a pen. ~ Laurie Halse Anderson,

878:Like unto ships far off at sea, Outward or homeward bound, are we. Before, behind, and all around, Floats and swings the horizons bound, Seems at its distant rim to rise And climb the crystal wall of the skies, And then again to turn and sink, As if we could slide from its outer brink. Ah! it is not the sea, It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, But ourselves That rock and rise With endless and uneasy motion, Now touching the very skies, Now sinking into the depths of ocean. Ah! if our souls but poise and swing Like the compass in its brazen ring, Ever level and ever true To the toil and the task we have to do, We shall sail securely, and safely reach The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, Will be those of joy and not of fear! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

879:Snow-flakes
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air,
      Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
      Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
            Silent, and soft, and slow
            Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
      Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
      In the white countenance confession,
            The troubled sky reveals
            The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
      Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
      Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
            Now whispered and revealed
            To wood and field. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

880:The writer of this legend then records
Its ghostly application in these words:
The image is the Adversary old,
Whose beckoning finger points to realms of gold;
Our lusts and passions are the downward stair
That leads the soul from a diviner air;
The archer, Death; the flaming jewel, Life;
Terrestrial goods, the goblet and the knife;
The knights and ladies all whose flesh and bone
By avarice have been hardened into stone;
The clerk, the scholar whom the love of pelf
Tempts from his books and from his nobler self.
The scholar and the world! The endless strife,
The discord in the harmonies of life!
The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,
And all the sweet serenity of books;
The market-place, the eager love of gain,
Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

881:You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,---
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,---
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

882:And he saw a youth approaching,
Dressed in garments green and yellow,
Coming through the purple twilight,
Through the splendor of the sunset;
Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead,
And his hair was soft and golden.
Standing at the open doorway,
Long he looked at Hiawatha,
Looked with pity and compassion
On his wasted form and features,
And, in accents like the sighing
Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops,
Said he, "O my Hiawatha!
All your prayers are heard in heaven,
For you pray not like the others,
Not for greater skill in hunting,
Not for greater craft in fishing,
Not for triumph in the battle,
Nor renown among the warriors,
But for profit of the people,
For advantage of the nations.
"From the Master of Life descending,
I, the friend of man, Mondamin,
Come to warn you and instruct you,
How by struggle and by labor
You shall gain what you have prayed for.
Rise up from your bed of branches,
Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

883:The Witnesses

In Ocean's wide domains,
Half buried in the sands,
Lie skeletons in chains,
With shackled feet and hands.

Beyond the fall of dews,
Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships, with all their crews,
No more to sink nor rise.

There the black Slave-ship swims,
Freighted with human forms,
Whose fettered, fleshless limbs
Are not the sport of storms.

These are the bones of Slaves;
They gleam from the abyss;
They cry, from yawning waves,
We are the Witnesses!

Within Earth's wide domains
Are markets for men's lives;
Their necks are galled with chains,
Their wrists are cramped with gyves.

Dead bodies, that the kite
In deserts makes its prey;
Murders, that with affright
Scare school-boys from their play!

All evil thoughts and deeds;
Anger, and lust, and pride;
The foulest, rankest weeds,
That choke Life's groaning tide!

These are the woes of Slaves;
They glare from the abyss;
They cry, from unknown graves,
We are the Witnesses! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

884:The ceaseless rain is falling fast,
And yonder gilded vane,
Immovable for three days past,
Points to the misty main,
It drives me in upon myself
And to the fireside gleams,
To pleasant books that crowd my shelf,
And still more pleasant dreams,
I read whatever bards have sung
Of lands beyond the sea,
And the bright days when I was young
Come thronging back to me.
In fancy I can hear again
The Alpine torrent's roar,
The mule-bells on the hills of Spain,
The sea at Elsinore.
I see the convent's gleaming wall
Rise from its groves of pine,
And towers of old cathedrals tall,
And castles by the Rhine.
I journey on by park and spire,
Beneath centennial trees,
Through fields with poppies all on fire,
And gleams of distant seas.
I fear no more the dust and heat,
No more I feel fatigue,
While journeying with another's feet
O'er many a lengthening league.
Let others traverse sea and land,
And toil through various climes,
I turn the world round with my hand
Reading these poets' rhymes.
From them I learn whatever lies
Beneath each changing zone,
And see, when looking with their eyes,
Better than with mine own. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

885:All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our todays and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house where gods may dwell
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble, as they seek to climb.

Build today, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall tomorrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

886:Endymion

The rising moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars,
Lie on the landscape green,
With shadows brown between.

And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams,
Had dropt her silver bow
Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this,
She woke Endymion with a kiss,
When, sleeping in the grove,
He dreamed not of her love.

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze.

It comes,--the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,--
In silence and alone
To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep,
And kisses the closed eyes
Of him, who slumbering lies.

O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!
O drooping souls, whose destinies
Are fraught with fear and pain,
Ye shall be loved again!

No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknown,
Responds unto his own.

Responds,--as if with unseen wings,
An angel touched its quivering strings;
And whispers, in its song,
"Where hast thou stayed so long? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

887:A Psalm of Life

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints
on the sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solenm main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

888:The Children's Hour

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

889:WHEN the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 5
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;

He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished, 15
Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more! 20

And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep 25
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes, 30
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 35
Breathing from her lips of air.

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

890:The Day is Done

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

891:We sat within the farm-house old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
Gave to the sea-breeze damp and cold,
An easy entrance, night and day.

Not far away we saw the port,
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,
The lighthouse, the dismantled fort,
The wooden houses, quaint and brown.

We sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room;
Our faces faded from the sight,
Our voices only broke the gloom.

We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
And who was changed, and who was dead;

And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again;

The first slight swerving of the heart,
That words are powerless to express,
And leave it still unsaid in part,
Or say it in too great excess.

The very tones in why we spake,
Had something strange, I could but mark;
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rattling in the dark.

Oft died the words upon our lips,
As suddenly, from out the fire
Built of the wreck of stranded ships,
The flames would leap and then expire.

And, as their splendor flashed and failed,
We thought of wrecks upon the main,
Of ships dismasted, that were hailed
And sent no answer back again.

The windows, rattling in their frames,
The ocean, roaring up the beach,
The gusty blast, the bickering flames,
All mingled vaguely in our speech;

Until they made themselves a part
Of fancies floating through the brain,
The long-lost ventures of the heart,
That send no answers back again.

O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!
They were indeed too much akin,
The drift-wood fire without that burned,
The thoughts that burned and glowed within. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

892:One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,
Across the meadows bare and brown,
The windows of the wayside inn
Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves
Their crimson curtains rent and thin.
As ancient is this hostelry
As any in the land may be,
Built in the old Colonial day,
When men lived in a grander way,
With ampler hospitality;
A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall,
Now somewhat fallen to decay,
With weather-stains upon the wall,
And stairways worn, and crazy doors,
And creaking and uneven floors,
And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams,
Remote among the wooded hills!
For there no noisy railway speeds,
Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds;
But noon and night, the panting teams
Stop under the great oaks, that throw
Tangles of light and shade below,
On roofs and doors and window-sills.
Across the road the barns display
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay,
Through the wide doors the breezes blow,
The wattled cocks strut to and fro,
And, half effaced by rain and shine,
The Red Horse prances on the sign.
Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust
Went rushing down the county road,
And skeletons of leaves, and dust,
A moment quickened by its breath,
Shuddered and danced their dance of death,
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead
Mysterious voices moaned and fled.
These are the tales those merry guests
Told to each other, well or ill;
Like summer birds that lift their crests
Above the borders of their nests
And twitter, and again are still.
These are the tales, or new or old,
In idle moments idly told;
Flowers of the field with petals thin,
Lilies that neither toil nor spin,
And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse
Hung in the parlor of the inn
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse.
Uprose the sun; and every guest,
Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed
For journeying home and city-ward;
The old stage-coach was at the door,
With horses harnessed,long before
The sunshine reached the withered sward
Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar
Murmured: "Farewell forevermore.
Where are they now? What lands and skies
Paint pictures in their friendly eyes?
What hope deludes, what promise cheers,
What pleasant voices fill their ears?
Two are beyond the salt sea waves,
And three already in their graves.
Perchance the living still may look
Into the pages of this book,
And see the days of long ago
Floating and fleeting to and fro,
As in the well-remembered brook
They saw the inverted landscape gleam,
And their own faces like a dream
Look up upon them from below. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

893:One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,
Across the meadows bare and brown,
The windows of the wayside inn
Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves
Their crimson curtains rent and thin.”

“As ancient is this hostelry
As any in the land may be,
Built in the old Colonial day,
When men lived in a grander way,
With ampler hospitality;
A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall,
Now somewhat fallen to decay,
With weather-stains upon the wall,
And stairways worn, and crazy doors,
And creaking and uneven floors,
And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams,
Remote among the wooded hills!
For there no noisy railway speeds,
Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds;
But noon and night, the panting teams
Stop under the great oaks, that throw
Tangles of light and shade below,
On roofs and doors and window-sills.
Across the road the barns display
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay,
Through the wide doors the breezes blow,
The wattled cocks strut to and fro,
And, half effaced by rain and shine,
The Red Horse prances on the sign.
Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust
Went rushing down the county road,
And skeletons of leaves, and dust,
A moment quickened by its breath,
Shuddered and danced their dance of death,
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead
Mysterious voices moaned and fled.
These are the tales those merry guests
Told to each other, well or ill;
Like summer birds that lift their crests
Above the borders of their nests
And twitter, and again are still.
These are the tales, or new or old,
In idle moments idly told;
Flowers of the field with petals thin,
Lilies that neither toil nor spin,
And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse
Hung in the parlor of the inn
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse.
Uprose the sun; and every guest,
Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed
For journeying home and city-ward;
The old stage-coach was at the door,
With horses harnessed, long before
The sunshine reached the withered sward
Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar
Murmured: "Farewell forevermore.
Where are they now? What lands and skies
Paint pictures in their friendly eyes?
What hope deludes, what promise cheers,
What pleasant voices fill their ears?
Two are beyond the salt sea waves,
And three already in their graves.
Perchance the living still may look
Into the pages of this book,
And see the days of long ago
Floating and fleeting to and fro,
As in the well-remembered brook
They saw the inverted landscape gleam,
And their own faces like a dream
Look up upon them from below. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

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