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The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall be, The things that might have been, and yet were not, The fading twilight of joys departed.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Joys
Twilight
Joy
Shall
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Departed
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Fading
Hereafter
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In ourselves are triumph and defeat.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.
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When you ask one friend to dine, Give him your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do!
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My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.
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In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face the face of one long dead Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
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Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Even the blackest of them all, the crow, Renders good service as your man-at-arms, Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail. And crying havoc on the slug and snail.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart
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Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest of all the arts.
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Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay.
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The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.
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My own thoughts Are my companions.
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Music is the language spoken by angels.
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In the long run men hit only what they aim at.
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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
In December ring Every day the chimes Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!
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Softly the evening came /with the sunset/.
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Stars of earth, these golden flowers emblems of our own great resurrection emblems of the bright and better land.
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The nearer the dawn the darker the night.
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The world loves a spice of wickedness.
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