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The student has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
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Portland
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Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
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Longfellow
Four
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Florence
Within
Ruins
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Italy
Modern
Rome
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More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Kind messages, that pass from land to land Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand,-- One touch of fire,--and all the rest is mystery!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It is difficult to know at what moment love begins it is less difficult to know that it has begun.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
This will be a great day in our history the date of a New Revolution - quite as much needed as the old one. Even now as I write they are leading old John Brown to execution in Virginia for attempting to rescue slaves! This is sowing the wind to reap the whirlwind which will come soon!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I dislike an eye that twinkles like a star. Those only are beautiful which, like the planets, have a steady lambent light, are luminous, but not sparkling.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Man is unjust, but God is just and finally justice triumphs.
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
'Tis always morning somewhere, and aboveThe awakening continents, from shore to shore,Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Three silences there are: the first of speech, the second of desire, the third of thought.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls, The burial-ground God's-Acre.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
What else remains for me? Youth, hope and love To build a new life on a ruined life.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it anticipates and admits of no return.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
