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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
Forms
April
Coming
Forest
Dark
Season
Form
Forests
Wells
Bright
Foretell
Well
Storm
Teeming
Many
Seasons
Folded
Love
Clouds
Storms

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Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need.
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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!
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Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.
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Our blossoms of passion, gay and luxuriant flowers, are bright and full of fragrance, but they beguile us and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly.
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What shall I say to you? What can I say Better than silence is?
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Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close.
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Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!
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In ourselves are triumph and defeat.
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Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher.
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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!
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Every man has a paradise around him till he sins, and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden.
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How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight!
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The world loves a spice of wickedness.
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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.
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Be noble in every thought And in every deed!
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Let nothing disturb thee, Nothing affright thee All things are passing God never changeth Patient endurance Attaineth to all things Who God possesseth In nothing is wanting Alone God sufficeth.
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