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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
Poet
Professor
Translator
Writer
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
Land
Favors
Dares
Least
Dare
Vegetarianism
Though
Honor
Noblest
Fear
City
Vegan

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Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate, Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
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Think not because no man sees, such things will remain unseen.
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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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But the great Master said, I see No best in kind, but in degree I gave a various gift to each, To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.
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Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, Life is checkered shade and sunshine.
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O little souls! as pure as white And crystalline as rays of light Direct from heaven, their source divine Refracted through the mist of years, How red my setting sun appears, How lurid looks this soul of mine!
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Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, As in a foundering ship.
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Gone are the birds that were our summer guests.
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Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.
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Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest art of all the arts. Painting and sculpture are but images, Are merely shadows cast by outward things On stone or canvas, having in themselves No separate existence. Architecture, Existing in itself, and not in seeming A something it is not, surpasses them As substance shadow.
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I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it. I stand in awe of my own opinion. The secret demerits of which we alone, perhaps, are conscious, are often more difficult to bear than those which have been publicly censured in us, and thus in some degree atoned for.
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If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it.
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I promise myself great pleasure from my visit to England. You know I am to stay with Dickens while in London and beside his own very agreeable society, I shall enjoy that of the most noted literary men of the day, which will be a great gratification to me.
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My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.
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God sifted a whole nation that he might send choice grain over into this wilderness.
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The moon is hidden behind a cloud... On the leaves is a sound of falling rain... No other sounds than these I hear The hour of midnight must be near... So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: I will go down to the chapel and pray.
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Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies.
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Time rides with the old At a great pace. As travellers on swift steeds See the near landscape fly and flow behind them, While the remoter fields and dim horizons Go with them, and seem wheeling round to meet them, So in old age things near us slip away, And distant things go with us.
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Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai.
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It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought! Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery we build where monsters used to hide themselves.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow