Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.

One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.

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.

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
. . . .
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The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
. . . .
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was read more

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.

It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream,
A blissful certainty, a vision bright,
Of that read more

It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream,
A blissful certainty, a vision bright,
Of that rare happiness, which even on earth
Heaven gives to those it loves.