Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The picture that approaches sculpture nearest
Is the best picture.

The picture that approaches sculpture nearest
Is the best picture.

I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of
song, born under green read more

I have a passion for ballad. . . . They are the gypsy children of
song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths
of literature,--in the genial Summertime.

Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious
the world of God within us. There read more

Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious
the world of God within us. There lies the Land of Song; there
lies the poet's native land.

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
. . . .
read more

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
. . . .
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature,
That fashions all her works in high relief,
And read more

Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature,
That fashions all her works in high relief,
And that is Sculpture. This vast ball, the Earth,
Was moulded out of clay, and baked in fire;
Men, women, and all animals that breathe
Are statues, and not paintings.