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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Writer)

They are ; but theyin each Patriot's breast, And theirare engraven on 's bright crest.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow right
is the universalof—their universal pastime and delight.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow time
Go forth to meet the shadowy , without , and with a manly .
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow man
Into eachsomemust fall, Some days must beand dreary.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow day
Weourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done…
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow read
what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow you
To most men only the cessation of thewould be miraculous and the perpetual exercise of 's power seems lessthan its withdrawal would be.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow power
If we could read the of our , we should find in each man's andenough to disarm all hostility.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow man
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 .
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow war
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow sweet
has laid hisUpon my , gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow dead
Turn, turn, my wheel!things mustTo something new, to something .
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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 death
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!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow men
Look, then, into thine heart, and write!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow rain
"Ah! this beautiful world!" said Flemming, with a smile. "Indeed, I know not what to think of it. Sometimes it is all gladness and sunshine, and Heaven itself lies not far off. And then it changes suddenly; and is dark and sorrowful, and clouds shut out the sky. 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 time
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 fear
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 war
No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
Into eachsomemust fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow dark
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 sleep
Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow man
O thou child of many ! Life hath quicksands; life hath snares!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow life
The shades ofwere falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow youth
Stars of the summer night! Far in yon azure deeps, Hide, hide your golden light! She sleeps! My lady sleeps!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow light
She floats upon the river of his thoughts.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow thoughts
I stood on the bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o'er the city, Behind the dark church-tower.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow dark
Never here, forever there, Where all parting, pain, and care,And death, and time shall disappear,— Forever there, but never here! Theof Eternity Sayeth this incessantly,— "Forever — never! Never — forever!"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow death
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
And the , fromto , I found again in the heart of a .
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
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 love
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 fire
There is no ! What seems so is transition; Thisof mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow life
In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the gods see everywhere.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow god
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 best
sent hisuponWithofand of , That they might touch theof , And bring them back toagain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wit
But the great Master said, "I see No best in kind, but in degree; I gave a various gift to each, To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow strength
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 life
! 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 will
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 war
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 sleep
A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow thoughts
A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow history
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 living
Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupation, That is known as the Children's Hour.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow light
Time has laid his hand Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
The grave itself is but a covered bridge, Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow light
I think I have proved, by profound researches, The error of all those doctrines so vicious Of the old Areopagite Dyonisius, That are making such terrible work in the churches, By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, And done into Latin by that Scottish beast, Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain, In the face of the truth, the error infernal, That the universe is and must be eternal; At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, That nothing with God can be accidental; Then asserting that God before the creation Could not have existed, because it is plain That, had he existed, he would have created; Which is begging the question that should be debated, And moveth me less to anger than laughter.All nature, he holds, 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 truth
Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change To something new, to something strange; 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, To-morrow be to-day.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow change
Thine was the prophet's vision, thine The exaltation, the divine Insanity of noble minds, That never falters nor abates, But labors and endures and waits, Till all that it foresees it finds Or what it can not find creates.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow mind
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 love
What land is this? Yon pretty town Is Delft, with all its wares displayed: The pride, the market-place, the crown And centre of the Potter's trade.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow war
Three Silences there are: the first of speech, The second of desire, the third of thought; This is the lore a Spanish monk, distraught With dreams and visions, was the first to teach.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow dreams
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the full river of feeling overflows.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
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 light
Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending; Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
There was a little girl, Who had a little curl, Right in the middle of her forehead.When she was good, She was very good indeed, But when she was bad she was horrid.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow good
O Bells of San Blas in vain Ye call back the Past again; The Past is deaf to your prayer! Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light; It is daybreak everywhere.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow prayer
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 patience
He that respects himself is safe from others; he wears a coat of mail that none can pierce.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow self
The star of the unconquered will.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow will
Oh, fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know erelong,— Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow fear
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 art
The hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow rain
For Time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year's nest!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow truth
The prayer of Ajax was for light.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow prayer
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 humanity
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 art
Books are sepulchres of thought.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow thought
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 past
The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow memory
The surest pledge of a deathless name Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow death
He has singed the beard of the king of Spain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow pain
With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow forever
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, " is but an empty !" For theisthat slumbers, And things are not what they seem.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Life is ! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the .
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Finds us further than to-day.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow joy
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 art
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!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
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 time
Footprints, that perhaps another, Travelling o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow life
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 art
It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow sea
"O father! I see a gleaming light. Oh say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow light
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 death
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 man
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 reading
His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow world
Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow night
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 war
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 pain
Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow time
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 art
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 music
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow men
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 their owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow art
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow music
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow love

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