Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent
The strife and the discouragement!

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent
The strife and the discouragement!

Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with read more

Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he read more

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he call'd the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars that on earth's firmament do shine.

The joy of meeting not unmixed with pain.

The joy of meeting not unmixed with pain.

The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries read more

The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;--
The happy days unclouded to their close;
The sudden joys that our of darkness start
As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!