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From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
Poet
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
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Dust
Thou
Death
Art
Soul
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon, In the round-tower of my heart, And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in the dust away!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright. The house is full of life and light.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Love is the root of creation God's essence worlds without number Lie in his bosom like children he made them for this purpose only. Only to love and to be loved again.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In the elder days of art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part, For the Gods are everywhere
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Life like an empty dream flits by.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Then from the neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Hope has as many lives as a cat or a king.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning - an endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea by measuring the distance we have run, but without any observation of the heavenly bodies.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Mercy more becomes a magistrate than the vindictive wrath which men call justice.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The country is not priest-ridded, but press-ridden.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth and one hand.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full of flowers.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tis always morning somewhere.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
