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Among the noblest in the land - Though man may count himself the least - That man I honor and revere, Who without favor, without fear, In the great city dares to stand, The friend of every friendless beast.
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
May
Among
Vegetarian
Without
Friend
Favor
Great
Cities
Beast
Friendless
Every
Stand
Count
Revere
Men
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Dares
Least
Dare
Vegetarianism
Though
Honor
Noblest
Fear
City
Vegan
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To be strong is to be happy!
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Thus, seamed with many scars Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland! skoal! Thus the tale ended.
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All your strength in is your union. All your danger is in discord. Therefore be at peace henceforward, And as brothers live together.
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The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy.
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But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
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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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He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man.
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Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape Trinkling vapors arose and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
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Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.
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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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Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods.
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Youth, hope, and love: To build a new life on a ruined life, To make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a troubled dream.
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See yonder fire! It is the moon slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, and through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, and makes the heart in love with night.
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Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For oh, it is not always May!
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I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions
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The greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it anticipates and admits of no return.
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When we walk towards the sun of Truth, all shadows are cast behind us.
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Mercy more becomes a magistrate than the vindictive wrath which men call justice.
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You would attain to the divine perfection.
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The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
