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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes - Page 25

Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, Life is checkered shade and sunshine.

Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, Life is checkered shade and sunshine.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, J. D. McClatchy (2000). “Poems and Other Writings”, p.205, Library of America

Be thy sleep Silent as night is, and as deep.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1871). “The Poetical Works”, p.162

All things come round to him who will but wait.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Edwin Edwards (1871). “The Poetical Works of H. W. Longfellow. Edited, with a Critical Memoir, by W. M. Rossetti. Illustrated ... by E. Edwards”, p.317

If we could read the secret history of our enemies.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1873). “Prose Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow”, p.452

Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1867). “The Poetical Works of H. W. Longfellow. Complete Edition”, p.8

How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth and one hand.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1849). “The Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ; Complete in One Volume”, p.113

Think not because no man sees, such things will remain unseen.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1867). “The Poetical Works of H. W. Longfellow. Complete Edition”, p.134

Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light.

"In the harbor. Part II: Ultima Thule" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and company, 1882.

The air of summer was sweeter than wine.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1871). “The Poetical Works”, p.305

Death is better than disease.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1871). “The Poetical Works”, p.148

The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1871). “The Poetical Works”, p.133

Youth comes but once in a lifetime.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1851). “The prose works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow”, p.97

They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with us on earth no more!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1849). “The Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ; Complete in One Volume”, p.10