Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
Romance is the poetry of literature.
Romance is the poetry of literature.
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and
masts of ships.
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and
masts of ships.
Ah, to build, to build!
That is the noblest of all the arts.
Ah, to build, to build!
That is the noblest of all the arts.
Thy fate is the common fate of all; Into each life some rain must fall.
Thy fate is the common fate of all; Into each life some rain must fall.
