An angel visited the green earth, and took a flower away. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
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 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… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
All things are symbols: the external shows Of Nature have their image in the mind , As flowers and fruits and falling… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
“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 Copy Share Image
Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Your silent tents of green We deck with fragrant flowers; Yours has the suffering been, The memory shall be ours. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Stars of earth, these golden flowers; emblems of our own great resurrection; emblems of the bright and better land. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Our blossoms of passion, gay and luxuriant flowers, are bright and full of fragrance, but they beguile us and lead us astray,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science Can from the ashes in our hearts once more The rose of youth restore? What craft… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river Linger to kiss thy feet! O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves are turned to the north, as… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Ah, how wonderful is the advent of the Spring!—the great annual miracle… which no force can stay, no violence restrain, like love,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
“Snow-flakes By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Each day is a branch of the Tree of Life laden heavily with fruit. If we lie down lazily beneath it, we… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
We waste our best years in distilling the sweetest flowers of life into potions which, after all, do not immortalize, but only… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
That tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms on it than it now bears. That tree grows new wood… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Many people do not allow their principles to take root, but pull them up every now and then, as children do the… — 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
The swallow is come! The swallow is come! O, fair are the seasons, and light Are the days that she brings, With… — 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
