Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ( 10 of 238 )
This is the forest primeval.
This is the forest primeval.
I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of
song, born under green read more
I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of
song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths
of literature,--in the genial Summertime.
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls.
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls.
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet read more
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
You behold in me
Only a travelling Physician;
One of the few who have a mission
read more
You behold in me
Only a travelling Physician;
One of the few who have a mission
To cure incurable diseases,
Or those that are called so.
The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.
The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the read more
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from
Sinai.
Seize the loud, vociferous fells, and
Clashing, clanging to the pavement
Hurl them from their windy tower!
Seize the loud, vociferous fells, and
Clashing, clanging to the pavement
Hurl them from their windy tower!
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had read more
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the
silence.
