Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
There is no light in earth or heaven but the cold light of stars; and the first watch of night is given… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The sea hath its pearls The heaven hath its stars But my heart, my heart Has its love. — 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
I dislike an eye that twinkles like a star. Those only are beautiful which, like the planets, have a steady lambent light,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
When Christ ascended Triumphantly from star to star He left the gates of Heaven ajar. — 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
For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky… — 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
Thus, seamed with many scars Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Were a star quenched on high,For ages would its light,Still travelling downward from the sky,Shine on our mortal sight. So when a… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. Shadows of… — 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
