Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, read more
Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, her aspect and her attitude.
He heard the convent bell,
Suddenly in the silence ringing
For the service of noonday.
He heard the convent bell,
Suddenly in the silence ringing
For the service of noonday.
And the fireflies, Wah-wah-taysee,
Waved their torches to mislead him.
And the fireflies, Wah-wah-taysee,
Waved their torches to mislead him.
For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter
Of the Eternal's language;--on earth it is called Forgiveness!
For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter
Of the Eternal's language;--on earth it is called Forgiveness!
Romance is the poetry of literature.
Romance is the poetry of literature.
