The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |
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Results 6-10 of 84
Page 12
... voice nor sound was there , No drum , nor sentry's pace ; The mist - like banners clasped the air As clouds with clouds embrace . But , when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed the morning prayer , The white pavilions rose and fell On the ...
... voice nor sound was there , No drum , nor sentry's pace ; The mist - like banners clasped the air As clouds with clouds embrace . But , when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed the morning prayer , The white pavilions rose and fell On the ...
Page 13
... voice gentle and low Of the soft air , like a daughter's breath , 66 Pray do not mock me so ! Do not laugh at me ! " And now the sweet day is dead ! Cold in his arms it lies ; No stain from its breath is spread Over the glassy skies ...
... voice gentle and low Of the soft air , like a daughter's breath , 66 Pray do not mock me so ! Do not laugh at me ! " And now the sweet day is dead ! Cold in his arms it lies ; No stain from its breath is spread Over the glassy skies ...
Page 14
... to rise , As when the Northern skies Gleam in December ; Ana , like the water's flow Under December's snow , Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber " As with his wings aslant , Sails the fierce The Skeleton in Armour.
... to rise , As when the Northern skies Gleam in December ; Ana , like the water's flow Under December's snow , Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber " As with his wings aslant , Sails the fierce The Skeleton in Armour.
Page 20
... voice , Singing in the village choir , And it makes his heart rejoice . It sounds to him like her mother's voice , Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more , How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard , rough hand ...
... voice , Singing in the village choir , And it makes his heart rejoice . It sounds to him like her mother's voice , Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more , How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard , rough hand ...
Page 22
... Voices Three , Ἰησοῦ , ἐλέησόν με Θάρσει , ἔγειραι , Υπαγε ! Ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε 1 FILLED is Life's goblet to the brim ... voice and slow . No purple flowers , -no garlands green , Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen , Nor maddening ...
... Voices Three , Ἰησοῦ , ἐλέησόν με Θάρσει , ἔγειραι , Υπαγε ! Ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε 1 FILLED is Life's goblet to the brim ... voice and slow . No purple flowers , -no garlands green , Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen , Nor maddening ...
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Common terms and phrases
Acadian Albrecht Dürer angel Balt beautiful behold BELFRY OF BRUGES bell beneath birds Bons amis breast breath bright brooklet Carlos clouds cried dark dead death door dost dreams earth Edenhall Elsie evermore eyes face fair fear feet fire flowers forest Friar gazed Gipsy gleams golden grave hand hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha holy Kenabeek land Lara laughed leaves light lips look loud Lucifer maiden meadow Mondamin monk moon morning night Nokomis o'er Osseo Padre passed Pau-Puk-Keewis Pray prayer Preciosa Prince Henry rain ring river rose round sails Saint sang shadows shining Sigrid the Haughty silent singing sleep smile song Song of Hiawatha sorrow soul sound spake stands stars stood sunshine sweet Tharaw thee thine thou art thought town unto Vict village voice walls wampum wander whispered wigwam wild wind words youth
Popular passages
Page 1 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 140 - We see but dimly through the mists and vapours ; Amid these earthly damps, What seem to us but sad funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death ! what seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Page 355 - The belfry tower of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns!
Page 355 - It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the' cock, And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington.
Page 39 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, ' As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, 10 And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Page 135 - Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! Sail on, O Union, strong and great ! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope...
Page 4 - In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. And with childlike, credulous affection We behold their tender buds expand ; Emblems of our own great resurrection, Emblems of the bright and better land.
Page 20 - Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts!
Page 355 - It was one by the village clock when he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock swim in the moonlight as he passed, and the meeting-house windows...
Page 1 - Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, — act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead!