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We are all architects of faith, ever living in these walls of time.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
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Time
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Faith
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The life of woman is full of woe, Toiling on and on and on, With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, The secret longings that arise, Which this world never satisfies! Some more, some less, but of the whole Not one quite happy, no, not one!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
We often excuse our own want of philanthropy by giving the name of fanaticism to the more ardent zeal of others.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There rises the moon, broad and tranquil, through the branches of a walnut tree on a hill opposite. I apostrophize it in the words of Faust O gentle moon, that lookest for the last time upon my agonies! --or something to that effect.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Big words do not smite like war-clubs, Boastful breath is not a bow-string, Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, Deeds are better things than words are, Actions mightier than boastings.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Beautiful in form and feature, lovely as the day, can there be so fair a creature formed of common clay?
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away?
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O Music! language of the soul, Of love, of God to man Bright beam from heaven thrilling, That lightens sorrow's weight.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The country is not priest-ridded, but press-ridden.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Buried was the bloody hatchet Buried was the dreadful war-club Buried were all warlike weapons, And the war-cry was forgotten. Then was peace among the nations.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul. The intellect of man is enthroned visibly on his forehead and in his eye, and the heart of man is written on his countenance, but the soul, the soul reveals itself in the voice only.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts are thoughts of me.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
He spoke well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Often times we call a man [or woman] cold when he [or she] is only sad.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
