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The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead.
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
Farewells
Mourning
Farewell
Air
Dying
Dead
Full
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A torn jacket is soon mended but hard words bruise the heart of a child.
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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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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.
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Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.
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Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside.
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O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!
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In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!
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There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.
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Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.
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These stars of earth, these golden flowers.
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Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.
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Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.
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One, if by land, and two, if by sea And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm For the country folk to be up and to arm.
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Success is not something to wait for, it is something to work for.
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A solid man of Boston A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas.
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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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Oh, what a glory doth this world put on, for him who with a fervent heart goes forth under the bright and glorious sky, and looks on duties well performed, and days well spent.
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How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth and one hand.
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The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds.
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The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.
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