Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was read more
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.
'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees
Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.
'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees
Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
Since yesterday I have been in Alcala.
Erelong the time will come, sweet Preciosa,
When that dull read more
Since yesterday I have been in Alcala.
Erelong the time will come, sweet Preciosa,
When that dull distance shall no more divide us;
And I no more shall scale thy wall by night
To steal a kiss from thee, as I do now.
It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the read more
It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples
Burned among the withering leaves.
