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The sun is set and in his latest beams Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, The falling mantle of the Prophet seems.
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
Seems
Slowly
Beams
Littles
Falling
Amber
Little
Clouds
Beam
Sun
Latest
Air
Cloud
Gold
Twilight
Upon
Prophet
Unrolled
Fall
Gray
Mantle
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I promise myself great pleasure from my visit to England. You know I am to stay with Dickens while in London and beside his own very agreeable society, I shall enjoy that of the most noted literary men of the day, which will be a great gratification to me.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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
O thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands, Life hath snares! Care and age come unawares!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The nearer the dawn the darker the night.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
My own thoughts Are my companions.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama.
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
Tis always morning somewhere.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It has done me good to be somewhat parched by the heat and drenched by the rain of life.
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
Love gives itself it is not bought.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Oh, how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded, day, descending upon earth with dews and shadows and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long mild twilight, which, like a silver clasp, unites today with yesterday!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest of all the arts.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Death is better than disease.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
