Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.

As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.

The ceaseless rain is falling fast,
And yonder gilded vane,
Immovable for three days past,
read more

The ceaseless rain is falling fast,
And yonder gilded vane,
Immovable for three days past,
Points to the misty main.

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.

That beautiful season
. . . the Summer of All-Saints!
Filled was the air with a dreamy read more

That beautiful season
. . . the Summer of All-Saints!
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the
landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.

Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom.

Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom.