Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the read more

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.

The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent
The strife and the discouragement!

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent
The strife and the discouragement!

Look not mournfully into the Past; it comes not back again.
Wisely improve the Present; it is thine.
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Look not mournfully into the Past; it comes not back again.
Wisely improve the Present; it is thine.
Go forth to meet the shadowy Future without fear and with a manly
heart.