Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon read more

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose over the city,
Behind the dark church tower.

Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.

Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

Hail to the King of Bethlehem,
Who weareth in his diadem
The yellow crocus for the gem
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Hail to the King of Bethlehem,
Who weareth in his diadem
The yellow crocus for the gem
Of his authority!

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
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A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.