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There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
Poet
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Beautiful
Nothing
Something
Fairs
Fair
Thee
Takes
Beauty
Makes
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Ambition's cradle oftenest is its grave
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A word that has been said may be unsaid-it is but air. But when a deed is done, it cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Books are sepulchres of thought.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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
By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And touching all the darksome woods with light, Smiles on the fields until they laugh and sing, Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring, Drops down into the night.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The day is dark and cold and dreary it rains, and the wind is never weary.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sang in tones of deep emotion Songs of love and songs of longing.
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 trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, While underneath such leafy tents they keep The long, mysterious Exodus of Death.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The hearts of some women tremble like leaves at every breath of love which reaches them, and they are still again. Others, like the ocean, are moved only by the breath of a storm, and not so easily lulled to rest.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavor for the selfsame ends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
