Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
When a great man dies, for years the light he leaves behind him, lies on the paths of men. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The grave itself is but a covered bridge, Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
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 Copy Share Image
He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
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… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
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 Copy Share Image
There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn; We shudder for a moment, then awake In the broad sunshine of the other… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
“Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
There is no flock, however watched and tended, but one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside howsoe'er defended, but has… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
“Yes, Death brings us again to our friends. They are waiting for us, and we shall not long delay. They have gone… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Even He that died for us upon the cross, in the last hour, in the unutterable agony of death, was mindful of… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The warriors that fought for their country, and bled, Have sunk to their rest; the damp earth is their bed; No stone… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Quotes about Life Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, a shadow on those features fair and thin. And softly, from the hushed and… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The course of my long life hath reached at last in fragile bark over a tempestuous sea the common harbor, where must… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Take them, O Death! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own! Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Doth give thee… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
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… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
“ Endymion The rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between.… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
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 Copy Share
“ Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,— Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from Fear,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
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… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
Heights by great men reached and kept were not obtained by sudden flight but, while their companions slept, they were toiling upward in the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
Ah, how skillful grows the hand That obeyeth Love's command! It is the heart, and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
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,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning - an endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea by measuring the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
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… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share
