O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away? — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
O lovely eyes of azure, Clear as the waters of a brook that run Limpid and laughing in the summer sun! — 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
By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Then followed that beautiful season... Summer… Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
What is time? The shadow on the dial, the striking of the clock, the running of the sand, day and night, summer… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Oh, how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded, day, descending upon earth with dews… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
O summer day beside the joyous sea! O summer day so wonderful and white, So full of gladness and so full of… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
“How Beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful… — 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
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
