Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

But noble souls, through dust and heat,
Rise from disaster and defeat
The stronger.

But noble souls, through dust and heat,
Rise from disaster and defeat
The stronger.

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind in never weary;
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The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind in never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain.

And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain.

Romance is the poetry of literature.

Romance is the poetry of literature.

This is the forest primeval.

This is the forest primeval.