Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Listen, every one
That listen may, unto a tale
That's merrier than the nightingale.
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Listen, every one
That listen may, unto a tale
That's merrier than the nightingale.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tales of a Wayside Inn (pt. III,),

O child! O new-born denizen
Of life's great city! on thy head
The glory of morn is read more

O child! O new-born denizen
Of life's great city! on thy head
The glory of morn is shed,
Like a celestial benison!
Here at the portal thou dost stand,
And with thy little hand
Thou openest the mysterious gate
Into the future's undiscovered land.

And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold read more

And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in
the green stillness of the country, where he read more

Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in
the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the heart
of Nature beat, or in the dark, gray town where he can hear and
feel the throbbing heart of man?

A feeling of sadness and longing that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles read more

A feeling of sadness and longing that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles the rain.