Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ( 10 of 238 )
Ah, to build, to build!
That is the noblest of all the arts.
Ah, to build, to build!
That is the noblest of all the arts.
Beneath me flows the Rhine, and, like the stream of Time, it
flows amid the ruins of the Past.
Beneath me flows the Rhine, and, like the stream of Time, it
flows amid the ruins of the Past.
The bells themselves are the best of preachers,
Their brazen lips are learned teachers,
From their pulpits read more
The bells themselves are the best of preachers,
Their brazen lips are learned teachers,
From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air,
Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw,
Shriller than trumpets under the Law,
Now a sermon and now a prayer.
The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, and doing well whatever you do read more
The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, and doing well whatever you do without thought of fame. If it comes at all it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after.
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.
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.
For age is opportunity no less than youth itself, though in another dress, and as the evening twilight fades away, read more
For age is opportunity no less than youth itself, though in another dress, and as the evening twilight fades away, the sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
Well has it been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak.
Well has it been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak.
Romance is the poetry of literature.
Romance is the poetry of literature.
Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it.
Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it.
