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
Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The moon is hidden behind a cloud... On the leaves is a sound of falling rain... No other sounds than these I… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
O ye dead Poets, who are living still Immortal in your verse, though life be fled, And ye, O living Poets, who… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Authors have a greater right than any copyright, though it is generally unacknowledged or disregarded. They have a right to the reader's… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The nimble lie Is like the second-hand upon a clock; We see it fly; while the hour-hand of truth Seems to stand… — 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
In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
How absolute and omnipotent is the silence of night! And yet the stillness seems almost audible! From all the measureless depths of… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you… — 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
What heart has not acknowledged the influence of this hour, the sweet and soothing hour of twilight, the hour of love, the… — 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
There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight! — 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 Image
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 Image
“ 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 Image
There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
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 Image
“ 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 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 tents they… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
