Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Does not all the blood within me Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, As the springs to meet the sunshine.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Life Quotes , Spring Quotes

I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love.

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A great sorrow, like a mariner's quadrant, brings the sun at noon down to the horizon, and we learn where we are on the sea of life.

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The prayer of Ajax was for light.

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Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are happiest.

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Difficulty on the way to victory is opportunity for God to work

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Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.

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I saw the long line of the vacant shore, The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand, And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.

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The course of my long life hath reached at last in fragile bark over a tempestuous sea the common harbor, where must rendered be account for all the actions of the past.

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All things must change To something new, to something strange.

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These stars of earth, these golden flowers.

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Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the Hereafter!

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O ye dead Poets, who are living still Immortal in your verse, though life be fled, And ye, O living Poets, who are dead Though ye are living, if neglect can kill, Tell me if in the darkest hours of ill, With drops of anguish falling fast and red From the sharp crown of thorns upon your head, Ye were not glad your errand to fulfill?

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Listen my children and you shall hear, Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere

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Age is opportunity no less than youth itself.

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Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.

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My Book and Heart Shall never part.

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As great Pythagoras of yore, Standing beside the blacksmith's door, And hearing the hammers, as they smote The anvils with a different note, Stole from the varying tones, that hung Vibrant on every iron tongue, The secret of the sounding wire. And formed the seven-chorded lyre.

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

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Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.

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