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
White swan of cities slumbering in thy nest . . . White phantom city, whose untrodden streets Are rivers, and whose pavements… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
No man is so poor as that. As well might the mountain streamlets say they have nothing worth giving to the sea,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet! — 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
Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows. — 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
How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and the heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
No man is so poor as to have nothing worth giving; as well might the mountain streamlets say they have nothing to… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Torrent of light and river of air, Along whose bed the glimmering stars are seen, Like gold and silver sands in some… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
...for it is the fate of a woman Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
O lovely river of Yvette! O darling river! like a bride, Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette Thou goest to wed the Orge's… — 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
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
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
