Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries read more

The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;--
The happy days unclouded to their close;
The sudden joys that our of darkness start
As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!

Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

There's a brave fellow! There's a man of pluck!
A man who's not afraid to say his say,
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There's a brave fellow! There's a man of pluck!
A man who's not afraid to say his say,
Though a whole town's against him.

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.