Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the read more

The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.

One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.

One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.

Night after night,
He sat and bleared his eyes with books.

Night after night,
He sat and bleared his eyes with books.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
read more

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from the neighboring thicket the mockingbird, wildest of
singers,
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung read more

Then from the neighboring thicket the mockingbird, wildest of
singers,
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water.
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music,
That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to
listen.