Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Feet that run on willing errands!
Feet that run on willing errands!
Romance is the poetry of literature.
Romance is the poetry of literature.
That beautiful season
. . . the Summer of All-Saints!
Filled was the air with a dreamy read more
That beautiful season
. . . the Summer of All-Saints!
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the
landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still like muffled drums are beating read more
Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in
the green stillness of the country, where he read more
Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in
the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the heart
of Nature beat, or in the dark, gray town where he can hear and
feel the throbbing heart of man?
