Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Kind messages, that pass from land to land;
Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history,
In read more
Kind messages, that pass from land to land;
Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history,
In which we feel the pressure of a hand,--
One touch of fire,--and all the rest is mystery!
Ah! vainest of all things
Is the gratitude of kings.
Ah! vainest of all things
Is the gratitude of kings.
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
