Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.
The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.
Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these?
Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught
read more
Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these?
Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught
The dialect they speak, where melodies
Alone are the interpreters of thought?
Whose household words are songs in many keys,
Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught!
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
Touch the goblet no more!
It will make thy heart sore
To its very core!
Touch the goblet no more!
It will make thy heart sore
To its very core!
