Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.
The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.
For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter
Of the Eternal's language;--on earth it is called Forgiveness!
For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter
Of the Eternal's language;--on earth it is called Forgiveness!
For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
What else remains for me?
Youth, hope and love;
To build a new life on a ruined read more
What else remains for me?
Youth, hope and love;
To build a new life on a ruined life.
