“Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining” — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
A great sorrow, like a mariner's quadrant, brings the sun at noon down to the horizon, and we learn where we are… — 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
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
I am the Angel of the Sun Whose flaming wheels began to run When God's almighty breath Said to the darkness and… — 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
The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The sun is set; and in his latest beams Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, Slowly upon the amber air… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from… — 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 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
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
O little souls! as pure as white And crystalline as rays of light Direct from heaven, their source divine; Refracted through the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
O lovely eyes of azure, Clear as the waters of a brook that run Limpid and laughing in the summer sun! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
When we walk towards the sun of Truth, all shadows are cast behind us. — 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
