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Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow.
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
Beard
Trees
Snow
Winter
Fields
Icicles
Tree
Giveth
Beards
Wintertime
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In the mouths of many men soft words are like roses that soldiers put into the muzzles of their muskets on holidays.
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If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it.
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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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Think of your woods and orchards without birds! Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams As in an idiot's brain remembered words Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams!
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Time is the life of the soul.
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The greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it anticipates and admits of no return.
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All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them, but what is universal.
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The soul never grows old.
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For next to being a great poet is the power of understanding one.
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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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The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.
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These stars of earth, these golden flowers.
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It is the heart and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain.
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Books are sepulchres of thought.
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In the elder days of art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part, For the Gods are everywhere
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Do not delay, Do not delay: the golden moments fly!
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Love is a bodily shape and Christian works are no more than animate faith and love, as flowers are the animate springtide.
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Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.
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The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead.
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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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
