Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
The architect
Built his great heart into these sculptured stones,
And with him toiled his children, and read more
The architect
Built his great heart into these sculptured stones,
And with him toiled his children, and their lives
Were builded, with his own, into the walls,
As offerings unto God.
He loved the twilight that surrounds
The border-land of old romance;
Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance,
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He loved the twilight that surrounds
The border-land of old romance;
Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance,
And banner waves, and trumpet sounds,
And ladies ride with hawk on wrist,
And mighty warriors sweep along,
Magnified by the purple mist,
The dusk of centuries and of song.
Well has it been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak.
Well has it been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak.
Though he was rough, he was kindly.
Though he was rough, he was kindly.
