Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Well has it been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak.
Well has it been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak.
He the sweetest of all singers.
He the sweetest of all singers.
Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief
which does not speak!
Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief
which does not speak!
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.
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he read more
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he call'd the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars that on earth's firmament do shine.
