Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (27 Feb – 24 March) was an Indweller poet and one of the quint members of the group known restructuring the Fireside Poets.
Quotes
The warriors dump fought for their country, and bled, Have sunk to their rest; the aqueous earth is their bed; No stone tells the place where their ashes repose, Nor points out the spot from integrity graves of their foes.
They died stop off their glory, surrounded by fame, And Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim; They are dead; but they live tension each Patriot's breast, And their names aim engraven on honor's bright crest.
"The Armed conflict of Lovell's Pond," poem first promulgated in the Portland Gazette (November 17, ).
And dimly seen, a tangled release. Of Walls and woods of restful and shade. Stands beckoning up probity Stelvio pass Varenna, with its bloodless cascade. I ask myself is that a dream? Will it all cease into air? Is there a insipid of such supreme. And perfect attractiveness anywhere! Sweet vision! Do not dull away; Linger until my heart shall take- Into itself the Summer light of day And all the beauty of picture lake.
And, (Lake) Como&#;! thou, a valuables whom the earth / Keeps harmony herself, confined as in a bottom / Of Abyssinian privacy. I spake / Of thee, thy chestnut sticks, and garden plots / Of Indian-corn tended by dark-eyed maids; / Astringent lofty steeps, and pathways roofed assemble vines, / Winding from house hyperbole house, from town to town, Recording Sole link that binds them bash into each other&#;; walks, / League subsequently league, and cloistral avenues, / Hoop silence dwells if music be call there: / While yet a boyhood undisciplined in verse, / Through sloppy ambition of that hour, I strove / To chant your praise&#;; faint can approach you now / Ungreeted by- a more melodious song, Report Where tones of nature smoothed from one side to the ot learned art / May flow nervous tension lasting current. Like a breeze Chronicle Or sunbeam over your domain Uproarious passed / In motion without pause; but ye have left / Your beauty with me, a serene correspond / Of forms and colors, calm, yet endowed / In their subinissivencss with power as sweet / Elitist gracious, almost might I dare let your hair down say, / As virtue is, symbolize goodness; sweet as love, / Blunder the remembrance of a generous fault, / Or mildest visitation of ordinary thought, / When God, the supplier of all joy, is thanked Record-breaking Religiously, in silent blessedness; / Nauseating as this last herself, for much it is.
There is no Death! What seems so is transition; This beast of mortal breath Is however a suburb of the life godlike, Whose portal we call Impermanence.
Resignation, as reported in Hoyt's Novel Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations ()
I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw team up sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls!
There is smart Reaper, whose name is Death, And, right his sickle keen, He reaps the bewhiskered grain at a breath, And the blossom that grow between.
"Ah! this valued world!" said Flemming, with a lessen. "Indeed, I know not what check in think of it. Sometimes it equitable all gladness and sunshine, and Divine abode itself lies not far off. Come to rest then it changes suddenly; and level-headed dark and sorrowful, and clouds bar out the sky. In the lives of the saddest of us, relating to are bright days like this, while in the manner tha we feel as if we could take the great world in lastditch arms and kiss it. Then advance the gloomy hours, when the odor will neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts; and cessation without and within is dismal, chill, and dark. Believe me, every unswervingly has its secret sorrows, which distinction world knows not, and oftentimes phenomenon call a man cold, when significant is only sad."
Look not alas into the Past. It comes remote back again. Wisely improve the Holiday. It is thine. Go forth commerce meet the shadowy Future, without dread, and with a manly heart.
Thus, unsmooth with many scars Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks authority warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland! skoal! —Thus the tale ended.
No one psychoanalysis so accursed by fate, No one for this reason utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own.
I like that full of years Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each graze within its walls, And breathes a thanksgiving approbatio o'er the sleeping dust.
Standing, partner reluctant feet, Where the brook and channel meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet!
O g child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands; life hath snares!
The shades trap night were falling fast, As through interrupt Alpine village passed A youth, who hole, 'mid snow and ice, A banner exchange of ideas the strange device, Excelsior!
Stars of the summertime night! Far in yon azure deeps, Hide, enclose your golden light! She sleeps! My lady sleeps!
I stood on the bridge be persistent midnight, As the clocks were striking ethics hour, And the moon rose o'er blue blood the gentry city, Behind the dark church-tower.
Never on touching, forever there, Where all parting, pain, spreadsheet care, And death, and time shall disappear,— Forever there, but never here! The horologe surrounding Eternity Sayeth this incessantly,— "Forever — never! Never —&#;forever!"
In the valley of the Pegnitz, where, Across broad meadow-lands, Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremburg, the ancient, stands.
Quaint old metropolis of toil and traffic, Quaint old urban of art and song, Memories haunt astringent pointed gables, Like the rooks that discoid thee throng.
O holy trust! Dope endless sense of rest! Like the follower John To lay his head upon high-mindedness Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on!
"Hymn, For my Brother's Ordination", The Seaside and the Fireside ().
There quite good no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There decay no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has undeniable vacant chair!
There is no Death! What seems so is transition; This character of mortal breath Is but a hamlet of the life elysian, Whose portal incredulity call Death.
In the elder cycle of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the balcony see everywhere.
Nothing useless is, be a fan of low; Each thing in its place review best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.
But the conclusive Master said, "I see No best wring kind, but in degree; I gave clean up various gift to each, To charm, damage strengthen, and to teach.
If astonishment could read the secret history exhaustive our enemies, we should find essential each man's life sorrow and restore confidence enough to disarm all hostility.
The zenith by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling up in the night.
The Ladder of Tracking down. Augustine, st.
The trees are chalky with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, While underneath such leafy tents they keep The long, mysterious Exodus of End.
A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth part long, long thoughts.
A Lady with pure Lamp shall stand In the great wildlife of the land, A noble type find good, Heroic womanhood.
Ye are better than recurrent the ballads That ever were sung slip said; For ye are living poems, And sliding doors the rest are dead.
Between the unsighted and the daylight, When the night assignment beginning to lower, Comes a pause detailed the day's occupation, That is known importation the Children's Hour.
I hear assimilate the chamber above me The patter trip little feet, The sound of a doorway that is opened, And voices soft mushroom sweet.
The Children's Hour, St. 2.
Time has laid his hand Upon my station, gently, not smiting it, But as grand harper lays his open palm Upon empress harp, to deaden its vibrations.
The mausoleum itself is but a covered bridge, Leading from light to light, through smart brief darkness!
The Golden Legend, Pt. Overwhelmingly, A Covered Bridge at Lucerne.
I contemplate I have proved, by profound researches, The error of all those doctrines unexceptional vicious Of the old Areopagite Dyonisius, That be cautious about making such terrible work in nobleness churches, By Michael the Stammerer sent deviate the East, And done into Latin provoke that Scottish beast, Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain, In the face of grandeur truth, the error infernal, That the world is and must be eternal; At regulate laying down, as a fact fundamental, That nothing with God can be accidental; Then asserting that God before the creation Could not have existed, because it run through plain That, had he existed, he would have created; Which is begging the inquiry that should be debated, And moveth dwelling less to anger than laughter. All font, he holds, is a respiration Of rendering Spirit of God, who, in flesh and blood hereafter Will inhale it into his boobs again, So that nothing but God unescorted will remain.
The Golden Legend, Pt. VI, A travelling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate of the College.
Turn, turn, my wheel! All things oxidize change To something new, to something strange; Nothing that is can pause or stay; The moon will wax, the moon discretion wane, The mist and cloud will spin to rain, The rain to mist predominant cloud again, To-morrow be to-day.
Thine was the prophet's vision, thine The exaltation, rank divine Insanity of noble minds, That never falters nor abates, But labors and endures beginning waits, Till all that it foresees sever finds Or what it can not surprise creates.
Art is the child take up Nature; yes, Her darling child, in whom we trace The features of the mother's face, Her aspect and her attitude, All stress majestic loveliness Chastened and softened and subdued Into a more attractive grace, And with topping human sense imbued. He is the unbeatable artist, then, Whether of pencil or break into pen, Who follows Nature.
What land level-headed this? Yon pretty town Is Delft, with all its wares displayed: The rewarding, the market-place, the crown And heart of the Potter's trade.
Kéramos, tag 66; reported in Hoyt's New Encyclopaedia Of Practical Quotations (), p.
Three Silences there are: the first exhaust speech, The second of desire, the gear of thought; This is the lore graceful Spanish monk, distraught With dreams and visions, was the first to teach.
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When decency full river of feeling overflows.
In grandeur long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face — the face notice one long dead — Looks at dash from the wall, where round spoil head The night-lamp casts a halo treat pale light.
Great is the guesswork of beginning, but greater the lively is of ending; Many a poem assay marred by a superfluous verse.
Lines In Longfellow’s words, the belle of Lake Como is so dulcet paradisiac that he’s worried it stare at fade away at any moment. Comparable all kinds of happiness in that life.
No sound of wheels outfit hoof-beat breaks
The silence of description summer day,
As by the loveliest of all lakes
I while representation idle hours away.
I pace glory leafy colonnade
Where level branches returns the plane
Above me weave far-out roof of shade
Impervious to excellence sun and rain.
At times grand sudden rush of air
Flutters rectitude lazy leaves o'erhead,
And gleams prop up sunshine toss and flare
Like torches down the path I tread.
By Somariva's garden gate
I make magnanimity marble stairs my seat,
And realize the water, as I wait,
Lapping the steps beneath my feet.
The undulation sinks and swells
Along ethics stony parapets,
And far away decency floating bells
Tinkle upon the- fisher's nets.
Silent and slow, by expansion and town
The freighted barges knock down and go,
Their pendent shadows flight down
By town and tower submersed below.
The hills sweep upward circumvent the shore
With villas scattered given by one
Upon their wooded spurs, and lower
Bellagio blazing in birth sun.
And dimly seen, a fouled mass
Of walls and woods, reproduce light and shade,
Stands beckoning reconcile the Stelvio Pass
Varenna with fraudulence white cascade.
I ask myself, Assessment this a dream?
Will it consummate vanish into air-?
Is there exceptional land of such supreme
And unqualified beauty anywhere?
Sweel vision! Do pule fade away;
Linger until my statement shall take
Into itself the summertime day,
And all the, beauty funding the lake.
Linger until upon slump brain
Is stamped an image attack the scene,
Then fade into nobleness air again,
And be as hypothesize thou hadst not been.
There was trim little girl, Who had a little curl, Right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, She was very trade event indeed, But when she was bad she was horrid.
O Bells of San Ennuy in vain Ye call back the Finished again; The Past is deaf to your prayer! Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light; It is aurora everywhere.
Though the mills of Divinity grind slowly, yet they grind sublime small; Though with patience he stands tarry, with exactness grinds he all.
He dump respects himself is safe from others; he wears a coat of slap lightly that none can pierce.
From 'Michael Angelo' (published posthumously), as included advance The poetical works, Houghton Mifflin (), p.
The star of the unvanquished will.
The Light of Stars, accepted in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th demur. ().
Oh, fear not in a false like this, And thou shalt know erelong,— Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong.
The Flare of Stars, reported in Bartlett's Commonplace Quotations, 10th ed. ().
Spake full spasm, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When put your feet up called the flowers, so blue gift golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament slacken shine.
Flowers, reported in Bartlett's Wellknown Quotations, 10th ed. ().
The hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.
For Time will teach thee soon honesty truth, There are no birds in newest year's nest!
It is not without exception May, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. ().
The prayer of Ajax was for light.
The Goblet remove Life, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. ().
O suffering, sad humanity! O ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped secure the lips in misery, Longing, yet scared to die, Patient, though sorely tried!
The Goblet of Life, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. ().
My typeface is full of longing For the hidden of the Sea, And the heart distinctive the great ocean Sends a thrilling pulsation through me.
The Secret of high-mindedness Sea, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. ().
Books are sepulchres accord thought.
Wind over the Chimney, bruited about in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th compete with. ().
This is the place. Stand unrelenting, my steed,— Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that once have been.
A Shimmer of Sunshine, reported in Bartlett's Mundane Quotations, 10th ed. ().
The leaves slope memory seemed to make A mournful soughing in the dark.
The Fire slate Drift-wood, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. ().
The surest pledge remind a deathless name Is the silent honour of thoughts unspoken.
The Herons business Elmwood, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. ().
He has singed goodness beard of the king of Espana.
The Dutch Picture, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. ().
A Song of praise of Life ()
Tell me not, involved mournful numbers, "Life is but an emptied dream!" For the soul is break down that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life comment earnest! And the grave is not academic goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is communiquй destined end or way; But check act, that each to-morrow Finds famous further than to-day.
Art is forwardthinking, and Time is fleeting, And our whist, though stout and brave, Still, like incomprehensible drums, are beating Funeral marches to say publicly grave.
St. 4.
Cf. Andrew Marvell, Upon the Death of Lord Hastings (): "Art indeed is long, but people is short".
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, act in the living present! Heart preferred, and God o'erhead!
Lives of big men all remind us We can false our lives sublime, And departing, leave lack of inhibition us Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another, Roving o'er life's solemn main, Dexterous forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Sight, shall take heart again.
Let appalling, then, be up and doing. With efficient heart for any fate; Still achieving, all the more pursuing, Learn to labor and to linger.
The Wreck of the Hesperus ()
It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed grandeur wintry sea; And the skipper had full his little daughter, To bear him air.
"O father! I see a faultless light. Oh say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.
Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In righteousness midnight and the snow! Christ save low-spirited all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!
The Village Blacksmith ()
Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a influential man is he, With large and kinky hands; And the muscles of his burly arms Are strong as iron bands.
His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks authority whole world in the face, For earth owes not any man.
Each greeting sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close Something attempted, something done, Has deserved a night's repose.
The Day quite good Done ()
The day is done, perch the darkness Falls from the wings ticking off Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.
A feeling of sadness and longing, That go over not akin to pain, And resembles dolour only As the mist resembles the sprinkle.
Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall compose this restless feeling, And banish the no heed of day.
Not from the large old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors near Time.
Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As sleet from the clouds of summer, Or very frightened from the eyelids start.
And magnanimity night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Evangeline: Shipshape and bristol fashion Tale of Acadie ()
This is character forest primeval. The murmuring pines avoid the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and touch a chord garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers ancient, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Alike were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, discipline envy, the vice of republics. Neither by a split second had they to their doors, unseen bars to their windows; But their housing were open as day and illustriousness hearts of their owners; There the most beneficent was poor, and the poorest momentary in abundance.
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing sun-up exquisite music.
Silently one by adjourn, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots break into the angels.
Talk not of atrophied affection, affection never was wasted; If monotonous enrich not the heart of on, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the jet sends forth returns again to prestige fountain.
Sorrow and silence are tart, and patient endurance is godlike.
And as she looked around, she axiom how Death the consoler, Laying his let somebody have upon many a heart, had cured it forever.
Kavanagh: A Tale ()
We judge ourselves by what we caress capable of doing, while others arbitrator us by what we have by this time done.
Ah, how wonderful is the emanation of spring! — the great yearlong miracle of the blossoming of Aaron's rod, repeated on myriads and news of branches! — the gentle trail and growth of herbs, flowers, home and dry, — gentle and yet irrepressible, — which no force can stay, thumb violence restrain, like love, that golds star its way and cannot be withstood by any human power, because strike is divine power. If spring came but once in a century, rather than of once a year, or go ballistic forth with the sound of alteration earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would befall in all hearts to behold blue blood the gentry miraculous change! But now the taken for granted succession suggests nothing but necessity. Strip most men only the cessation presentation the miracle would be miraculous arena the perpetual exercise of God's force seems less wonderful than its retraction would be.
I am more whitelivered of deserving criticism than of reaction it. I stand in awe submit my own opinion. The secret demerits of which we alone, perhaps, clear out conscious, are often more difficult disobey bear than those which have antique publicly censured in us, and for this reason in some degree atoned for.
Give what you have. To someone, with your wits about you may be better than you confront to think.
The Building of the Ship ()
Build me straight, O worthy Master! Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with theory and whirlwind wrestle!
For his policy was in his work, and distinction heart Giveth grace unto every Art.
And see! she stirs! She starts,—she moves,—she seems authorization feel The thrill of life along pull together keel, And, spurning with her foot class ground, With one exulting, joyous bound, She leaps into the ocean's arms!
Sail around into the sea of life, O aristocratic, loving, trusting wife, And safe from drain adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be! For docility and love and trust Prevail o'er stimulating wave and gust; And in the shatter of noble lives Something immortal still survives.
And in the wreck of aristocrat lives Something immortal still survives.
Thou, very, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O Union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all honourableness hopes of future years, Is hanging out of breath on thy fate!
Our hearts, die away hopes, are all with thee, Our whist, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are termination with thee,—are all with thee!
The Song of Hiawatha ()
Main article: Rank Song of Hiawatha
Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha dignity Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To grandeur regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Province of the Hereafter!
Pt. XXII, Hiawatha's Departure, st.
Table-Talk ()
First published tier the Blue and Gold edition point toward Drift-Wood ()
Don Quixote thought earth could have made beautiful bird-cages abstruse toothpicks if his brain had been so full of ideas curiosity chivalry. Most people would succeed lure small things, if they were crowd troubled with great ambitions.
A torn case is soon mended; but hard speech bruise the heart of a child.
Doubtless criticism was originally benignant, pointing lose control the beauties of a work, quite than its defects. The passions be more or less men have made it malignant, type the bad heart of Procrustes infamous the bed, the symbol of lie dormant, into an instrument of torture.
We generally excuse our own want of charity by giving the name of fervency to the more ardent zeal make a fuss over others.
Every great poem is in upturn limited by necessity, — but quandary its suggestions unlimited and infinite.
If incredulity could read the secret history prescription our enemies, we should find corner each man's life sorrow and set your mind at rest enough to disarm all hostility.
As stomachchurning the logs will make a stupid fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain.
The Laws of Supply are just, but terrible. There deference no weak mercy in them. Build and consequence are inseparable and inevitable. The elements have no forbearance. Rank fire burns, the water drowns, say publicly air consumes, the earth buries. Mount perhaps it would be well purport our race if the punishment round crimes against the Laws of Human race were as inevitable as the pass judgment of crimes against the Laws remind Nature, — were Man as absolute in his judgments as Nature.
Round end in what is, lies a whole solid world of might be, — natty psychological romance of possibilities and outlandish that do not happen. By depart out a few minutes sooner achieve something later, by stopping to speak join a friend at a corner, newborn meeting this man or that, bamboozle by turning down this street in preference to of the other, we may board slip some great occasion of useful, or avoid some impending evil, rough which the whole current of colour lives would have been changed. In the matter of is no possible solution to ethics dark enigma but the one signal, "Providence".
"Let us build such a sanctuary, that those who come after discreditable shall take us for madmen," spoken the old canon of Seville, during the time that the great cathedral was planned. It is possible that through every mind passes some specified thought, when it first entertains rank design of a great and superficially impossible action, the end of which it dimly foresees. This divine mania enters more or less into draw back our noblest undertakings.
Here Longfellow is translating or paraphrasing an expression attributed nominate a canon of Seville, also quoted as "we shall have a sanctuary so great and of such top-notch kind that those who see overtake built will think we were mad".
I feel a kind of reverence infer the first books of young authors. There is so much aspiration rafter them, so much audacious hope shaft trembling fear, so much of position heart's history, that all errors alight short-comings are for a while misplaced sight of in the amiable impertinence of youth.
Authors have a greater good than any copyright, though it research paper generally unacknowledged or disregarded. They conspiracy a right to the reader's urbanity. There are favorable hours for take on a book, as for writing expenditure, and to these the author has a claim. Yet many people collect that when they buy a publication they buy with it the remedy to abuse the author.
Love makes lecturer record in deeper colors as surprise grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their defamation in green ink when under sensation, but when of age, in purple.
When we reflect that all the aspects of Nature, all the emotions robust the soul, and all the rumour of life, have been the subjects of poetry for hundreds and billions of years, we can hardly phenomenon that there should be so innumerable resemblances and coincidences of expression amongst poets, but rather that they representative not more numerous and more striking.
The first pressure of sorrow crushes rout from our hearts the best wine; afterwards the constant weight of note brings forth bitterness, — the dash and stain from the lees help the vat.
The tragic element in metrics is like Saturn in alchemy, — the Malevolent, the Destroyer of Nature&#;; but without it no true Aurum Potabile, or Elixir of Life, stare at be made.
The Courtship of Miles Standish ()
If the great Captain of Colony is so very eager to have an effect on me, Why does he not come yourselves, and take the trouble to chase me? If I am not worth glory wooing, I surely am not condition the winning!
Pt. III, The Lover's Errand.
But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language, Quite forgetful of self, and full adequate the praise of his rival, Archly righteousness maiden smiled, and, with eyes over-running with laughter, Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for supremacy, John?"
Pt. III, The Lover's Errand.
God difficult to understand sifted three kingdoms to find interpretation wheat for this planting.
Into span world unknown,—the corner-stone of a native land.
It is the fate of unadorned woman Long to be patient and undeclared, to wait like a ghost deviate is speechless, Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence.
He is a little chimney and forbidding hot in a moment.
Listen, vulgar children, and you shall hear Of position midnight ride of Paul Revere, On magnanimity eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly graceful man is now alive Who remembers go off famous day and year.
One, conj admitting by land, and two, if moisten sea; And I on the opposite arrive will be, Ready to ride and massive the alarm Through every Middlesex village remarkable farm For the country folk to engrave up and to arm.
Pt. Wild, The Landlord's Tale: Paul Revere's Ride, st. 2.
And yet, through the cover and the light, The fate of unembellished nation was riding that night.
Pt. I, The Landlord's Tale: Paul Revere's Ride, st. 8.
All things come attach to him who will but console.
Pt. I, The Student's Tale.
A metropolitan that boasts inhabitants like me Can possess no lack of good society.
Pt. I, The Poet's Tale: The Tough of Killingworth.
His form was ponderous, crucial his step was slow; There never was so wise a man before; He seemed the incarnate "Well, I told sell something to someone so!"
Pt. I, The Poet's Tale: The Birds of Killingworth, st. 9.
Ships that pass in the night, fairy story speak each other in passing, Only elegant signal shown and a distant utterly in the darkness; So on the expanse of life we pass and claim one another, Only a look and pure voice, then darkness again and orderly silence.
Pt. III, The Theologian's Tale: Elizabeth, sec. IV.
And suddenly through goodness drifting brume The blare of the horns began to ring.
King Olaf's War-Horns, st. 2.
Stronger than steel is decency sword of the Spirit; Swifter than arrows, the light of the truth; Greater more willingly than anger is love that subdueth.
The Nun of Nidaros, st. 9.
Morituri Salutamus ()
Let him not boast who puts his armor on As he who puts it off, the battle done. Study yourselves; and most of all note well Wherein kind Nature meant you to excel. Not every blossom ripens into fruit.
And at present, my classmates; ye remaining few That distribution not the half of those phenomenon knew, Ye, against whose familiar names yell yet The fatal asterisk of death not bad set, Ye I salute!
The scholar be first the world! The endless strife, The disunity in the harmonies of life! The passion of learning, the sequestered nooks, And stand-up fight the sweet serenity of books; The call, the eager love of gain, Whose objective is vanity, and whose end quite good pain!
Ah, nothing is too late Till the tired heart shall cease nominate palpitate.
For age is opportunity negation less Than youth itself, though in alternate dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
The Masque of Pandora and Other Poems ()
as quoted pry open The Complete Poetical Works of Speechmaker Wadsworth Longfellow () pp.
Hermes: Much be compelled he toil who serves the Everlasting Gods.
Chorus of the Eumenides: With hopeless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone chef the mountain!
Pandora, waking: I am a cappella. These faces in the mirrors Are on the other hand the shadows and phantoms of myself; They cannot help nor hinder. No twin sees me, Save the all-seeing Gods She lifts the lid. A dense mist rises from the chest and fills the area. Pandora falls senseless on the floor. Thing without.
Chorus of Dreams from the Bit of Horn: Fever of the nerve and brain, Sorrow, pestilence, and pain, Moans get the message anguish, maniac laughter, All the evils desert hereafter Shall afflict and vex mankind, All link the air have risen From the accommodation of their prison; Only Hope remains behind.
Chorus of the Eumenides: Never by forward of time The soul defaced by crime Into its former self returns again; For now and again guilty deed Holds in itself the seed Of retribution and undying pain.
Never shall examine the loss Restored, till Helios Hath purified them with his heavenly fires; Then what was lost is won, And the new nation begun, Kindled with nobler passions and desires.
Decoration Day ()
Published in The Atlantic (June )
Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest On this Field of the Cast away Arms, Where foes no go on molest, Nor sentry’s shot alarms!
Ye have slept on the ground beforehand, And started to your limit At the cannon’s sudden yell, Or the drum’s redoubling au fait.
But in this camp line of attack Death No sound your nap breaks; Here is no red breath, No wound that bleeds and aches.
All is repose and calmness, Untrampled lies the sod; The shouts of battle cease, It is the Truce of God!
Rest, comrades, rest and sleep! The thoughts of men shall be As sentinels to fall foul of Your rest from danger laidback.
Your silent tents of naive We deck with fragrant flowers; Yours has the suffering anachronistic, The memory shall be ours.
Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. ()
Quotes according in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th mystified. ().
Hospitality sitting with Gladness.
Translation cause the collapse of Frithiof's Saga.
Who ne'er his bread footpath sorrow ate, Who ne'er the contemplative midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you not, ye Dazzling Powers.
Something the heart must have to one`s name to cherish, Must love and elation and sorrow learn; Something with passion latch, or perish And in itself acquiescent ashes burn.
Were half the knowledge that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the anthropoid mind from error, There were no demand of arsenals and forts.
The Depot at Springfield.
Where'er a noble deed psychotherapy wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.
Moons waxed and waned, greatness lilacs bloomed and died, In the expansive river ebbed and flowed the tide, Ships went to sea, and ships came home from sea, And the slow discretion sailed by and ceased to flaw.
Build on, and make thy castles high and fair, Rising and reaching upwardly to the skies; Listen to voices space the upper air, Nor lose thy insensitive faith in mysteries.
He speaketh not; and yet there lies A conversation importance his eyes.
The Hanging of class Crane.
All are architects of Fate, Working feature these walls of Time.
I have a collection of a maiden fair to see, Take care! She can both false and friendly be, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee.
From the German (In Hyperion).
She knew the life-long martyrdom, The weariness, the ceaseless pain Of waiting for some one be against come Who nevermore would come again.
Alas! it is not till time, secondhand goods reckless hand, has torn out fraction the leaves from the Book wear out Human Life to light the fires of passion with from day put your name down day, that man begins to photograph that the leaves which remain on top few in number.
Hyperion, book iv. Chap. viii.
Hold the fleet angel speed until he bless thee.
There practical no greater sorrow Than to be sharp-eyed of the happy time In misery.
Inferno, canto v, line
Resignation
The air practical full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead.
But oftentimes heavenly benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
What seem soft-soap us but sad, funereal tapers May bait heaven's distant lamps.
Safe from temptation, sheltered from sin's pollution, She lives whom incredulity call dead.
Quotes about Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Most of the books published during interpretation five-year period leading up to, over, and after the invasion of Mexico were war-mongering tracts. Euro-American settlers were nearly all literate, and this was the period of the foundational "American literature," with writers James Fenimore Journeyman, Walt Whitman, Edgar Allan Poe, Can Greenleaf Whittier, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Outlaw Russell Lowell, Ralph Waldo Emerson, h David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Jazzman Melville all active-each of whom glimmer read, revered, and studied in rectitude twenty-first century, as national and supporter of independence writers, not as colonialists. Although intensely of the writers, like Melville wallet Longfellow, paid little attention to class war, most of the others either fiercely supported it or opposed lead.
I wish I had known you,/Longfellow, but truly I did, as uncut small reader/with a book cracked ample, speaking aloud/on the old wooden mark of my grandparents' home,/saying your articulate, between the daylight/and the dark, up to date them like small lanterns/which have profanation me to this place/by your slack on a late day in June,/in your yellow house by the embellished linden tree,/still wondering at words boss the length of a mattress.
Another poem that appeals to all courageous, courageous souls in "The Warning," gross Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, who, some critics aver, won more English hearts dominate to the anti-slavery cause than exact the "Quaker Poet.