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White swan of cities slumbering in thy nest . . . White phantom city, whose untrodden streets Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting Shadows of the palaces and strips of sky.
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
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Whose
Nests
Slumbering
Streets
Palaces
Swan
Cities
Shifting
Strips
White
Shadows
Phantom
Rivers
Swans
Sky
Pavement
Shadow
Nest
Untrodden
City
Phantoms
Pavements
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgment of others.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Silence is a great peacemaker.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Perseverance is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Stars of earth, these golden flowers emblems of our own great resurrection emblems of the bright and better land.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I love thee, as the good love heaven.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
To be seventy years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then you sit down and meditate and wonder which it will be.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A torn jacket is soon mended but hard words bruise the heart of a child.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A solid man of Boston A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths of literature,--in the genial Summertime.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Youth comes but once in a lifetime.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
