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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A boy's will is the wind's will.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A coquette is a young lady of more beauty than sense, more accomplishments than learning, more charms not person than graces of mind, more admirers than friends, mole fools than wise men for attendants.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And touching all the darksome woods with light, Smiles on the fields until they laugh and sing, Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring, Drops down into the night.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Age is opportunity no less than youth itself.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A great sorrow, like a mariner's quadrant, brings the sun at noon down to the horizon, and we learn where we are on the sea of life.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A handful of red sand from the hot clime Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy of Time, The minister of Thought.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ah, how skillful grows the hand That obeyeth Love's command! It is the heart, and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain, And he who followeth Love's behest Far excelleth all the rest!

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ah, how wonderful is the advent of the Spring!—the great annual miracle.... which no force can stay, no violence restrain, like love, that wins its way and cannot be withstood by any human power, because itself is divine power. If Spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation would there be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change!... We are like children who are astonished and delighted only by the second-hand of the clock, not by the hour-hand.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science Can from the ashes in our hearts once more The rose of youth restore? What craft of alchemy can bid defiance To time and change, and for a single hour Renew this phantom-flower?

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest art of all the arts. Painting and sculpture are but images, Are merely shadows cast by outward things On stone or canvas, having in themselves No separate existence. Architecture, Existing in itself, and not in seeming A something it is not, surpasses them As substance shadow.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest of all the arts.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ah! What would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep, All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, and all is o'er, A plunge, a bubble, and no more.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Alas! it is not till time, with reckless hand, has torn out half the leaves from the Book of Human Life to light the fires of passion with from day to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain are few in number.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All things come round to him who will but wait.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All nature ... is a respiration Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing hereafter Will inhale it into his bosom again, So that nothing but God alone will remain.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them, but what is universal.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All the means of action -- the shapeless masses -- the materials -- lie everywhere about us. What we need is the celestial fire to change the flint into the transparent crystal, bright and clear. That fire is genius.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All things are symbols: the external shows Of Nature have their image in the mind , As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All things must change To something new, to something strange.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All was ended now, the hope, and the fear and the sorrow, All the aching of the heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All was silent as before - All silent save the dripping rain.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All your strength in is your union. All your danger is in discord. Therefore be at peace henceforward, And as brothers live together.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    All your strength is in union, all your danger is in discord.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A man must be of a very quiet and happy nature, who can long endure the country; and, moreover, very well contented with his own insignificant person.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human breast, that however high we reach we are never satisfied.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Ambition's cradle oftenest is its grave

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A millstone and the human heart are driven ever round, If they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Among the noblest in the land - Though man may count himself the least - That man I honor and revere, Who without favor, without fear, In the great city dares to stand, The friend of every friendless beast.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    An angel visited the green earth, and took a flower away.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    And in despair I bowed my head; "There is no peace on earth," I said; "For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: "God is not dead, nor doth he sleep! The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men!

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    And the bright faces of my young companions Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and silently steal away.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    An enlightened mind is not hoodwinked; it is not shut up in a gloomy prison till it thinks the walls of its dungeon the limits of the universe, and the reach of its own chain the outer verge of intelligence.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    A noble type of good. Heroic womanhood.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    .... Anon from the castle walls The crescent banner falls, And the crowd beholds instead, Like a portent in the sky, Iskander's banner fly, The Black Eagle with double head. And shouts ascend on high .....'' Long live Scanderbeg.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Art is long, and Time is fleeting.