Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the read more

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

My Book and Heart
Shall never part.

My Book and Heart
Shall never part.

Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll
Grow deep and still, read more

Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll
Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence
Becomes a benefaction to the towns
They visit, wandering silently among them,
Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.

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.

I saw the long line of the vacant shore,
The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand,
read more

I saw the long line of the vacant shore,
The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand,
And the brown rocks left bare on every hand,
As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.