Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,
And through the opening door that time unlocks
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Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,
And through the opening door that time unlocks
Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And out hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled read more

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And out hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

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.

This is the forest primeval.

This is the forest primeval.

The world loves a spice of wickedness.

The world loves a spice of wickedness.