Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A face that had a story to tell. How different faces are in this
particular! Some of them speak read more
A face that had a story to tell. How different faces are in this
particular! Some of them speak not. They are books in which not
a line is written, save perhaps a date.
And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain.
And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the
surface
Is as the tossing buoy, read more
Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the
surface
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden.
Well has the name of Pontifex been given
Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder
And read more
Well has the name of Pontifex been given
Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder
And architect of the invisible bridge
That leads from earth to heaven.
