Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
'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.
A feeling of sadness and longing that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles read more
A feeling of sadness and longing that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles the rain.
The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.
The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.
I love the season well
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded read more
I love the season well
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms,
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming of storms.
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings read more
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
