Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
In the thickets and the meadows
Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa.
On the summit of the lodges
read more
In the thickets and the meadows
Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa.
On the summit of the lodges
Sang the robin, the Opechee.
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!
Kind messages, that pass from land to land;
Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history,
In read more
Kind messages, that pass from land to land;
Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history,
In which we feel the pressure of a hand,--
One touch of fire,--and all the rest is mystery!
The prayer of Ajax was for light;
Through all that dark and desperate fight,
The blackness of read more
The prayer of Ajax was for light;
Through all that dark and desperate fight,
The blackness of that noonday night.
