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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
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Wonder
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Will without power is like children playing at soldiers.
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A man must be of a very quiet and happy nature, who can long endure the country and, moreover, very well contented with his own insignificant person.
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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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Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.
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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.
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O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away?
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Youth wrenches the sceptre from old age, and sets the crown on its own head before it is entitled to it.
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'Tis always morning somewhere, and aboveThe awakening continents, from shore to shore,Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.
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The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary, And I am near to fall, infirm and weary.
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Do not delay, Do not delay: the golden moments fly!
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'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.
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It has done me good to be somewhat parched by the heat and drenched by the rain of life.
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But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
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Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.
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Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
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