Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had read more

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the
silence.

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

Thy fate is the common fate of all; Into each life some rain must fall.

Thy fate is the common fate of all; Into each life some rain must fall.

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
read more

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the read more

The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.