Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, read more

Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, her aspect and her attitude.

You behold in me
Only a travelling Physician;
One of the few who have a mission
read more

You behold in me
Only a travelling Physician;
One of the few who have a mission
To cure incurable diseases,
Or those that are called so.

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the read more

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from
Sinai.

So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken,
The light he leaves behind him read more

So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken,
The light he leaves behind him lies
Upon the paths of men.

Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth read more

Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.