Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
Sleep... Oh! how I loathe those little slices of death....
It is Lucifer,
The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be,
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It is Lucifer,
The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be,
He, too, is God's minister,
And labors for some good
By us not understood.
Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with read more
Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.
For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;
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Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;
Old fold and young together, and children mingled among them.
