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So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go, Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

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
Hands
Full
Gently
Hand
Scarce
Sleep
Unknown
Knowing
Leads
Wish
Stay
Understand
Deals
Away
Rest
Playthings
Nature
Takes
Transcends

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Gone are the birds that were our summer guests.
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Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.
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The motives and purposes of authors are not always so pure and high, as, in the enthusiasm of youth, we sometimes imagine. To many the trumpet of fame is nothing but a tin horn to call them home, like laborers from, the field, at dinner-time, and they think themselves lucky to get the dinner.
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Each day is a branch of the Tree of Life laden heavily with fruit. If we lie down lazily beneath it, we may starve but if we shake the branches, some of the fruit will fall for us.
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People demand freedom only when they have no power.
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Behind the clouds is the sun still shining.
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As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.
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If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!
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The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed.
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The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full of flowers.
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Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose.
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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!
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Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion.
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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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Alas! it is not till time, with reckless hand, has torn out half the leaves from the Book of Human Life to light the fires of passion with from day to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain are few in number.
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Oh, how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded, day, descending upon earth with dews and shadows and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long mild twilight, which, like a silver clasp, unites today with yesterday!
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Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher.
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Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.
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A millstone and the human heart are driven ever round, If they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground.
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All your strength is in union, all your danger is in discord.
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