Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking.

Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking.

Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with read more

Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.

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.

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.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day; their old familiar carols play, and wild and sweet the word repeat of read more

I heard the bells on Christmas Day; their old familiar carols play, and wild and sweet the word repeat of peace on earth, good-will to men!