Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of might be, a psychological romance of possibilities and things that do not happen.

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Build me straight. O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!

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The swallow is come! The swallow is come! O, fair are the seasons, and light Are the days that she brings, With her dusky wings, And her bosom snowy white!

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Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies.

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The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall be, The things that might have been, and yet were not, The fading twilight of joys departed.

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The life of a man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams, but in active charity and in willing service.

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Nature paints not; In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven; With sunsets, and the lovely forms of clouds; And flying vapors.

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There's not a ship that sails the ocean, But every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small, And help to build the wooden wall!

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It is a beautiful trait in the lover's character, that they think no evil of the object loved.

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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.

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Every man has his secret sorrows.

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Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice.

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A young critic is like a boy with a gun; he fires at every living thing he sees. He thinks only of his own skill, not of the pain he is giving.

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The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary, And I am near to fall, infirm and weary.

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Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm.

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Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o’er our fears, are all with thee – are all with thee!

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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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O lovely eyes of azure, Clear as the waters of a brook that run Limpid and laughing in the summer sun!

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The warriors that fought for their country, and bled, Have sunk to their rest; the damp earth is their bed; No stone tells the place where their ashes repose, Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes. They died in their glory, surrounded by fame, And Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim; They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.

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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.

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