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I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls, The burial-ground God's-Acre.
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
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More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Death is better than disease.
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For next to being a great poet is the power of understanding one.
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I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
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Great men stand like solitary towers in the city of God.
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A word that has been said may be unsaid-it is but air. But when a deed is done, it cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow.
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Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east-wind was his breath.
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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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A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood.
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Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape Trinkling vapors arose and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
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Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn Something with passion clasp, or perish And in itself to ashes burn.
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Music is the language spoken by angels.
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I cannot believe any man can be perfectly well in body, who has much labor of the mind to perform.
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The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark
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The Mormons make the marriage ring, like the ring of Saturn, fluid, not solid, and keep it in its place by numerous satellites.
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They who go Feel not the pain of parting it is they Who stay behind that suffer.
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Learn to labour and to wait.
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In the elder days of art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part, For the Gods are everywhere
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Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom.
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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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O thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands, Life hath snares! Care and age come unawares!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
