And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The heaven of poetry and romance still lies around us and within us. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
This is the place. Stand still, my steed,- Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The great tragedy of the average man is that he goes to his grave with his music still in him. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the… — 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
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep, All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, and all is o'er, A… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. — 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
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
Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall… — 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
Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity Upon the bosom of that… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
How can I teach your children gentleness and mercy to the weak, and reverence for life, which in its nakedness and excess,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The everyday cares and duties, which men call drudgery, are the weights and counterpoises of the clock of time, giving its pendulum… — 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
The hearts of some women tremble like leaves at every breath of love which reaches them, and they are still again. Others,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
“Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight… — 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
Let us labor for an inward stillness-- An inward stillness and an inward healing. That perfect silence where the lips and heart… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Whatever hath been written shall remain, Nor be erased nor written o'er again; The unwritten only still belongs to thee: Take heed,… — 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
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
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
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
