The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Volume 6 (Google eBook)

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1911
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Page 377 - And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing.
Page 272 - INTO the Silent Land ! Ah ! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, oh, thither, Into the Silent Land?
Page 265 - I KNOW a maiden fair to see, Take care ! She can both false and friendly be, Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not. She is fooling thee ! She has two eyes, so soft and brown, Take care ! She gives a side-glance and looks down, Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not, She ifl fooling thee ! And she has hair of a golden hue, Take care ! And what she says, it is not true, Beware ! Beware ! Trunt her not, She is fooling thee ! She has a bosom as white as snow, Take care ! She knows how much it is best to show.
Page 216 - LET nothing disturb thee, Nothing affright thee ; All things are passing ; God never changeth ; Patient endurance Attaineth to all things ; Who God possesseth In nothing is wanting ; Alone God sufficeth.
Page 268 - And fain it would stoop downward To the mirrored wave below ; And fain it would soar upward In the evening's ciimsoii glow." " Well have I seen that castle, That Castle by the Sea, And the moon above it standing, And the mist rise solemnly.
Page 272 - O Land ! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate allotted, Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great Departed, Into the Silent Land ;
Page 482 - Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.
Page 300 - GENTLE Spring! in sunshine clad, Well dost thou thy power display ! For Winter maketh the light heart sad, And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay.
Page 386 - 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.
Page 143 - ... also when they shall be afraid of that which is high and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish and the grass-hopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail : because man goeth to his long home and the mourners go about the streets...

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