Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ( 10 of 238 )
Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels.
Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels.
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon
Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the read more
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon
Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape;
Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
The Rhine! the Rhine! a blessing on the Rhine!
The Rhine! the Rhine! a blessing on the Rhine!
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others.
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others.
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when read more
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgement of others.
To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgement of others.
Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief
which does not speak!
Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief
which does not speak!
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind in never weary;
The read more
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind in never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,
And through the opening door that time unlocks
read more
Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,
And through the opening door that time unlocks
Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep.
I see, but cannot reach, the height
That lies forever in the light.
I see, but cannot reach, the height
That lies forever in the light.
