Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ( 10 of 238 )
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak
And the fireflies, Wah-wah-taysee,
Waved their torches to mislead him.
And the fireflies, Wah-wah-taysee,
Waved their torches to mislead him.
The glory of Him who
Hung His masonry pendant on naught, when the world He created.
The glory of Him who
Hung His masonry pendant on naught, when the world He created.
Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning,--an
endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea read more
Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning,--an
endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea by measuring the
distance we have run, but without any observation of the heavenly
bodies.
Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature,
That fashions all her works in high relief,
And read more
Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature,
That fashions all her works in high relief,
And that is Sculpture. This vast ball, the Earth,
Was moulded out of clay, and baked in fire;
Men, women, and all animals that breathe
Are statues, and not paintings.
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;
read more
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;
Old fold and young together, and children mingled among them.
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he read more
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he call'd the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars that on earth's firmament do shine.
A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better
than ten years' study of books.
A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better
than ten years' study of books.
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we read more
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame.
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and
masts of ships.
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and
masts of ships.
