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The emigrant's way o'er the western desert is mark'd by Camp-fires long consum'd and bones that bleach in the sunshine.
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
Bones
Western
Emigration
Mark
Bleach
Fire
Fires
Long
Camp
Way
Camps
Sunshine
Desert
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All things are symbols.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought! Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery we build where monsters used to hide themselves.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The strength of criticism lies in the weakness of the thing criticized.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and the heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The history of the past is a mere puppet-show. A little man comes out and blows a little trumpet, and goes in again. You look for something new, and lo! another little man comes out, and blows another little trumpet, and goes in again. And it is all over.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths of literature,--in the genial Summertime.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
For it is the fate of a woman Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers Runnng through caverns of darkness.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
None but yourself who are your greatest foe.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Prayer is innocence's friend and willingly flieth incessant 'twist the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow