Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature,
That fashions all her works in high relief,
And read more
Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature,
That fashions all her works in high relief,
And that is Sculpture. This vast ball, the Earth,
Was moulded out of clay, and baked in fire;
Men, women, and all animals that breathe
Are statues, and not paintings.
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others.
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others.
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.
All things come round to him who will but wait.
All things come round to him who will but wait.
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.
