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And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.
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
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Ceased
Echoes
Silence
Pain
Sense
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See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks!
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Oh, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us!
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The first pressure of sorrow crushes out from our hearts the best wine afterwards the constant weight of it brings forth bitterness, the taste and stain from the lees of the vat.
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The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.
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Three silences there are: the first of speech, the second of desire, the third of thought.
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It is the heart and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain.
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So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go, Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
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I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms.
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My own thoughts Are my companions.
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O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on!
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Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings.
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He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man.
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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 Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.
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I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it.
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