Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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.

Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!

Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!

Resolve and thou art free.

Resolve and thou art free.

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.

For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of
emotion,
That if by chance read more

For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of
emotion,
That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble,
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret,
Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.