Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.
The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.
Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these?
Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught
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Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these?
Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught
The dialect they speak, where melodies
Alone are the interpreters of thought?
Whose household words are songs in many keys,
Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught!
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest
So wonderfully built among the reeds
Of the lagoon, read more
White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest
So wonderfully built among the reeds
Of the lagoon, that fences thee and feeds,
As sayeth thy old historian and thy guest!
Love gives itself; it is not bought.
Love gives itself; it is not bought.
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.
