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I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
Poet
Professor
Translator
Writer
Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Enjoy
Neighborhood
Feel
Affection
City
Feels
Streets
Great
Sweet
Men
Safe
Cities
Security

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'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.
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The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do, well.
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Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.
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Write on your doors the saying wise and old, Be bold! be bold! and everywhere - Be bold Be not too bold! Yet better the excess Than the defect better the more than less Better like Hector in the field to die, Than like a perfumed Paris turn and fly.
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Silence is a great peacemaker.
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The pleasant books, that silently among Our household treasures take familiar places, And are to us as if a living tongue Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces!
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Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, to some good angel leave the rest For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nest!
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The day is done and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!
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The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. Shadows of evening fall around us, and the world seems but a dim reflection - itself a broader shadow. We look forward into the coming lonely night. The soul withdraws into itself. Then stars arise, and the night is holy.
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Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate, Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
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Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken up thy lamp and gone to bed I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn.
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If spring came but once a century instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all the hearts to behold the miraculous change.
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More hearts are breaking in this world of ours Than one would say. In distant villages And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage Scattered them in their flight, do they take root, And grow in silence, and in silence perish.
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Then followed that beautiful season... Summer.... Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
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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.
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All your strength is in union, all your danger is in discord.
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Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow.
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