Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ( 10 of 238 )
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet read more
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
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.
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls.
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls.
You behold in me
Only a travelling Physician;
One of the few who have a mission
read more
You behold in me
Only a travelling Physician;
One of the few who have a mission
To cure incurable diseases,
Or those that are called so.
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.
A boy's will is the wind's will.
A boy's will is the wind's will.
Seize the loud, vociferous fells, and
Clashing, clanging to the pavement
Hurl them from their windy tower!
Seize the loud, vociferous fells, and
Clashing, clanging to the pavement
Hurl them from their windy tower!
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the read more
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from
Sinai.
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had read more
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the
silence.
To the red rising moon, and loud and deep
The nightingale is singing from the steep.
To the red rising moon, and loud and deep
The nightingale is singing from the steep.
