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… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
There rises the moon, broad and tranquil, through the branches of a walnut tree on a hill opposite. I apostrophize it in… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Many critics are like woodpeckers, who, instead of enjoying the fruit and shadow of a tree, hop incessantly around the trunk, pecking… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for miles below Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, as if… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Each day is a branch of the Tree of Life laden heavily with fruit. If we lie down lazily beneath it, we… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
That tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms on it than it now bears. That tree grows new wood… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Like black hulks the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the billowy sea of grass. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The natural alone is permanent. Fantastic idols may be worshipped for a while; but at length they are overturned by the continual… — 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
