Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
and read more

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.
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.

To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgement of others.

To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgement of others.

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent
The strife and the discouragement!

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent
The strife and the discouragement!

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of
heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the read more

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of
heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his
sandal shoon.

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, read more

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!