Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
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!
The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the read more
The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.
Oh, there is something in that voice that reaches
The innermost recesses of my spirit!
Oh, there is something in that voice that reaches
The innermost recesses of my spirit!
The strength of criticism lies in the weakness of the thing criticized.
The strength of criticism lies in the weakness of the thing criticized.
