The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall be, The things that… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The twilight that surrounds the border-land of old romance. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Oh, how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded, day, descending upon earth with dews… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
To-day, to-morrow, every day, to thousands the end of the world is close at hand. And why should we fear it? We… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Some feelings are quite untranslatable; no language has yet been found for them. They gleam upon us beautifully through the dim twilight… — 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
I venerate old age; and I love not the man who can look without emotion upon the sunset of life, when the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
What heart has not acknowledged the influence of this hour, the sweet and soothing hour of twilight, the hour of love, the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,… — 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
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
How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight! — 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
