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Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science Can from the ashes in our hearts once more The rose of youth restore? What craft of alchemy can bid defiance To time and change, and for a single hour Renew this phantom-flower?

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
Wonder
Craft
Phantom
Working
Crafts
Occult
Hours
Rose
Renew
Science
Hour
Alchemy
Change
Hearts
Phantoms
Heart
Flower
Defiance
Time
Youth
Restore
Single
Ashes

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Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.
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The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.
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And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and silently steal away.
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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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The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark
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By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited.
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I dislike an eye that twinkles like a star. Those only are beautiful which, like the planets, have a steady lambent light, are luminous, but not sparkling.
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Weak minds make treaties with the passions they cannot overcome, and try to purchase happiness at the expense of principle but the resolute will of a strong man scorns such means, and struggles nobly with his foe to achieve great deeds.
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It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong.
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Don't cross the bridge til you come to it.
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When thou are not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and darkened, As the shining river darkens When the clouds drop shadows on it! When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is brightened, As in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind makes in rivers.
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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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Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
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Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice.
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Time rides with the old At a great pace. As travellers on swift steeds See the near landscape fly and flow behind them, While the remoter fields and dim horizons Go with them, and seem wheeling round to meet them, So in old age things near us slip away, And distant things go with us.
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Kind messages, that pass from land to land Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand,-- One touch of fire,--and all the rest is mystery!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.
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Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest art of all the arts. Painting and sculpture are but images, Are merely shadows cast by outward things On stone or canvas, having in themselves No separate existence. Architecture, Existing in itself, and not in seeming A something it is not, surpasses them As substance shadow.
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The surest pledge of a deathless name Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken.
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This will be a great day in our history the date of a New Revolution - quite as much needed as the old one. Even now as I write they are leading old John Brown to execution in Virginia for attempting to rescue slaves! This is sowing the wind to reap the whirlwind which will come soon!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow