Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ( 10 of 238 )
Even cities have their graves!
Even cities have their graves!
Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with read more
Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.
He the sweetest of all singers.
He the sweetest of all singers.
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings read more
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
For bells are the voice of the church;
They have tones that touch and search
The hearts read more
For bells are the voice of the church;
They have tones that touch and search
The hearts of young and old.
My Book and Heart
Shall never part.
My Book and Heart
Shall never part.
Sang in tones of deep emotion
Songs of love and songs of longing.
Sang in tones of deep emotion
Songs of love and songs of longing.
Midnight! the outpost of advancing day!
The frontier town and citadel of night!
Midnight! the outpost of advancing day!
The frontier town and citadel of night!
The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of read more
The twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.
Even the blackest of them all, the crow,
Renders good service as your man-at-arms,
Crushing the beetle read more
Even the blackest of them all, the crow,
Renders good service as your man-at-arms,
Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail,
And crying havoc on the slug and snail.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
