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A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Land
Lamp
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Womanhood
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.
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A solid man of Boston A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas.
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More and more do I feel, as I advance in life, how little we really know of each other. Friendship seems to me like the touch of musical-glasses--it is only contact but the glasses themselves, and their contents, remain quite distinct and unmingled.
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Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
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And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.
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The secret anniversaries of the heart.
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The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
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I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart
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Will without power is like children playing at soldiers.
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I will be a man among men and no longer a dreamer among shadows. Henceforth be mine a life of action and reality! I will work in my own sphere, nor wish it other than it is. This alone is health and happiness.
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Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light.
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The heart, like the mind, has a memory. And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes.
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Only a look and a voice then darkness again and silence.
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A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
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All things are symbols.
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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.
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Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.
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Art is the child of Nature.
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What else remains for me? Youth, hope and love To build a new life on a ruined life.
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Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavor for the selfsame ends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations.
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