Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of
heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the read more

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

Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert read more

Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.

The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, and doing well whatever you do read more

The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, and doing well whatever you do without thought of fame. If it comes at all it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after.

God sent his Singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch read more

God sent his Singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.

I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of
song, born under green read more

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.