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See yonder fire! It is the moon slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, and through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, and makes the heart in love with night.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
Poet
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Light
Hills
Drips
Littles
Forests
Dewy
Little
Rising
Yonder
Heart
Slow
Foliage
Love
Moon
Tips
Fire
Hill
Makes
Eastern
Glimmers
Night
Forest
Rivulets
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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
So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest.
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
As the heart is, so is love to the heart. It partakes of its strength or weakness, its health or disease.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The nearer the dawn the darker the night.
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
Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. By dropping golden beads near a snake, a crow once managed To have a passer-by kill the snake for the beads.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I love an author the more for having been himself a lover of books.
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Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter!
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With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain!
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A noble type of good. Heroic womanhood.
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Prayer is innocence's friend and willingly flieth incessant 'twist the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven.
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White swan of cities slumbering in thy nest . . . White phantom city, whose untrodden streets Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting Shadows of the palaces and strips of sky.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away?
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
No man is so poor as to have nothing worth giving.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Death is better than disease.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Do not fear! Heaven is as near, He said, by water as by land!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close.
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
