Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The pen became a clarion.

The pen became a clarion.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted read more

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

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

Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the
surface
Is as the tossing buoy, read more

Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the
surface
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden.

Night after night,
He sat and bleared his eyes with books.

Night after night,
He sat and bleared his eyes with books.