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At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast.
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
Stood
Mast
Beach
Masts
Fairs
Daybreak
Fair
Maiden
Sea
Maidens
Close
Fisherman
Form
Bleak
Lashed
Drifting
Aghast
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies.
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Build today, then strong and sure, With a firm and ample base And ascending and secure. Shall tomorrow find its place.
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These stars of earth, these golden flowers.
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Big words do not smite like war-clubs, Boastful breath is not a bow-string, Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, Deeds are better things than words are, Actions mightier than boastings.
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People of a lively imagination are generally curious, and always so when a little in love.
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Life like an empty dream flits by.
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All things come round to him who will but wait.
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I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Some critics are like chimney-sweepers they put out the fire below, and frighten the swallows from their nests above they scrape a long time in the chimney, cover themselves with soot, and bring nothing away but a bag of cinders, and then sing from the top of the house as if they had built it.
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Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.
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From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul.
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So disasters come not singly But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wiseRound their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish.
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The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark
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Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.
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Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.
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The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.
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Stars of earth, these golden flowers emblems of our own great resurrection emblems of the bright and better land.
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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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Ambition's cradle oftenest is its grave
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A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
