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I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms.
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
Form
Forests
Wells
Bright
Foretell
Well
Storm
Teeming
Many
Seasons
Folded
Love
Clouds
Storms
Forms
April
Coming
Forest
Dark
Season
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river Linger to kiss thy feet! O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever The world more fair and sweet.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, to some good angel leave the rest For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nest!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Perhaps the greatest lesson which the lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word* Wait!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For oh, it is not always May!
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
The great tragedy of the average man is that he goes to his grave with his music still in him.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Feeling is deep and still and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Books are sepulchres of thought.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
If spring came but once a century instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all the hearts to behold the miraculous change.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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
Look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Then from the neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Time has a doomsday book, upon whose pages he is continually recording illustrious names. But as often as a new name is written there, an old one disappears. Only a few stand in illuminated characters never to be effaced.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
