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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!
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
Always
Rhyme
Prime
Youth
Stay
Simple
Read
Maiden
Enjoy
Maidens
May
Fragrance
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A handful of red sand from the hot clime Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy of Time, The minister of Thought.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.
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The Laws of Nature are just, but terrible. There is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are inseparable and inevitable.
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It is true, that it is not at all necessary to love many books, in order to love them much.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Oh, what a glory doth this world put on, for him who with a fervent heart goes forth under the bright and glorious sky, and looks on duties well performed, and days well spent.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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
There is no death! What seems so is transition this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death.
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Love gives itself it is not bought.
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Do not fear! Heaven is as near, He said, by water as by land!
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Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies.
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If we could read the secret history of our enemies.
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Listen my children and you shall hear, Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere
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By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven.
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
The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright. The house is full of life and light.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O Music! language of the soul, Of love, of God to man Bright beam from heaven thrilling, That lightens sorrow's weight.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east-wind was his breath.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
