Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships. — 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
“A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.” — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Chill air and wintry winds! My ear has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen,… — 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
Burn, O evening hearth, and waken Pleasant visions, as of old! Though the house by winds be shaken, Safe I keep this… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great… — 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
After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And touching all the darksome woods… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind in never weary; The vine still clings to the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
What child has a heart to sing in this capricious clime of ours, when spring comes sailing in from the sea, with… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
More hearts are breaking in this world of ours Than one would say. In distant villages And solitudes remote, where winds have… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The natural alone is permanent. Fantastic idols may be worshipped for a while; but at length they are overturned by the continual… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
When thou are not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and darkened, As the shining river darkens When the clouds drop… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
In the life of every man there are sudden transitions of feeling, which seem almost miraculous. At once, as if some magician… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
This will be a great day in our history; the date of a New Revolution - quite as much needed as the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
This song of mine Is a song of the vine To be sung by the glowing embers Of wayside inns, When the… — 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 day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The day is dark and cold and dreary; it rains, and the wind is never weary. — 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
