Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The pen became a clarion.

The pen became a clarion.

What else remains for me?
Youth, hope and love;
To build a new life on a ruined read more

What else remains for me?
Youth, hope and love;
To build a new life on a ruined life.

Then from the neighboring thicket the mockingbird, wildest of
singers,
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung read more

Then from the neighboring thicket the mockingbird, wildest of
singers,
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water.
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music,
That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to
listen.

The sun is set; and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
read more

The sun is set; and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
Slowly upon the amber air unrolled,
The falling mantle of the Prophet seems.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.