Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Even the blackest of them all, the crow,
Renders good service as your man-at-arms,
Crushing the beetle read more

Even the blackest of them all, the crow,
Renders good service as your man-at-arms,
Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail,
And crying havoc on the slug and snail.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

The pen became a clarion.

The pen became a clarion.

At first laying down, as a fact fundamental,
That nothing with God can be accidental.

At first laying down, as a fact fundamental,
That nothing with God can be accidental.

Listen, every one
That listen may, unto a tale
That's merrier than the nightingale.
read more

Listen, every one
That listen may, unto a tale
That's merrier than the nightingale.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tales of a Wayside Inn (pt. III,),

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.