Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute, and still,
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The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute, and still,
And calm, and self-possessed.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds the sun is shining;
Thy fate is read more

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds the sun is shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....

Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....

Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.

Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.

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.