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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes - Page 8

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The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken.

The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Inspirational, Happiness, Adversity
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (2012). “Kavanagh (Annotated Edition)”, p.46, Jazzybee Verlag

How can I teach your children gentleness and mercy to the weak, and reverence for life, which in its nakedness and excess, is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, when by your laws, your actions and your speech, you contradict the very things I teach?

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Children, Law, Omnipotence

Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Life, Burning, Deeds
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1871). “The Poetical Works”, p.37

When you ask one friend to dine, Give him your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Wine, Two, Giving
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1887). “Final Memorials of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow”

So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go, Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Nature, Sleep, Hands
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (2012). “My Complete Poetical Works (Annotated Edition)”, p.848, Jazzybee Verlag

Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Past, Rising, Wrecks
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, J. D. McClatchy (2000). “Poems and Other Writings”, p.326, Library of America

The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Father, Frozen, Wrecks
'The Wreck of the Hesperus' (1839)

The Laws of Nature are just, but terrible. There is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are inseparable and inevitable. The elements have no forbearance. The fire burns, the water drowns, the air consumes, the earth buries. And perhaps it would be well for our race if the punishment of crimes against the Laws of Man were as inevitable as the punishment of crimes against the Laws of Nature -were Man as unerring in his judgments as Nature.

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

Fair words gladden so many a heart.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Heart, Fairness, Fairs
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1873). “Tales of a Wayside Inn”, p.296

Ne speaketh not; and yet there lies a conversation in his eyes.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Loyalty, Lying, Eye
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Hanging Of The Crane”

I venerate old age; and I love not the man who can look without emotion upon the sunset of life, when the dusk of evening begins to gather over the watery eye, and the shadows of twilight grow broader and deeper upon the understanding.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Love, Time, Twilight
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1855). “The Works: Kavanagh. Outre-Mer”, p.164

As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor. Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead Which, the more splendid, may not please him more; So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Mother, Children, Sleep
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1988). “Selected Poems”, p.322, Penguin

The history of the past is a mere puppet-show. A little man comes out and blows a little trumpet, and goes in again. You look for something new, and lo! another little man comes out, and blows another little trumpet, and goes in again. And it is all over.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Men, Blow, Past
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1886). “The Prose Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Outre Mer and Driftwood”

Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tree, Growth, Age
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1888). “Longfellow's Days: The Longfellow Prose Birthday Book : Extracts from the Journals and Letters of H. W. 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.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Rain, Sunset, Night
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1875). “The Hanging of the Crane”, p.43

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Beautiful, Summer, Sweet
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Illustrated)”, p.70, Delphi Classics

The spirit-world around this world of sense Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere Wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Halloween, Kids, Air
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1859). “The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: A New Complete Edition, Including Miles Standish and Other Poems”, p.628

O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away?

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Beautiful, Summer, Taken
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Illustrated)”, p.1057, Delphi Classics

Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Life, Summer, Tombstone
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1859). “The Complete Poetical Works”, p.607

God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Song, Heart, Sadness
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1871). “The Poetical Works”, p.138

Men should soon make up their minds to be forgotten, and look about them, or within them, for some higher motive in what they do than the approbation of men, which is fame, namely, their duty; that they should be constantly and quietly at work, each in his sphere, regardless of effects, and leaving their fame to take care of itself.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Men, Leaving, Mind
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1851). “The prose works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow”, p.38

In what a forge and what a heat were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock; 'Tis of the wave and not the rock.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Angel, Rocks, Anchors
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1867). “The Poetical Works of H. W. Longfellow. Complete Edition”, p.130

No literature is complete until the language it was written in is dead.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Literature, Language, Written

Quotes about Life 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.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Life, Death, Dream
"A Psalm of Life" st. 1 - 2 (1838)

'Tis always morning somewhere, and aboveThe awakening continents, from shore to shore,Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Morning, Nature, Bird
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1869). “The Poetical Works”, p.537

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