Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
But noble souls, through dust and heat,
Rise from disaster and defeat
The stronger.
But noble souls, through dust and heat,
Rise from disaster and defeat
The stronger.
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.
The light upon her face
Shines from the windows of another world.
Saints only have such faces.
The light upon her face
Shines from the windows of another world.
Saints only have such faces.
