The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Google eBook)

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James R. Osgood, 1871 - 363 pages
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Page 134 - and vapors ; 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. She is not dead, the child of our affection, But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor
Page 2 - A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. 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
Page 130 - the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are all with thee, are all with thee ! THE EVENING STAR. JUST above yon sandy
Page 134 - Leave no yawning gaps between ; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen. In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen ; Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Page 42 - with the strange device, Excelsior I There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, Excelsior ! POEMS ON SLAVERY. 1843. [The following poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the latter part of October,
Page 3 - THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. "Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he; " Have naught but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all
Page 329 - the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away ! ENCELADUS. UNDER Mount Etna he lies, It is slumber, it is not death ; For he struggles at times to arise, And above
Page 37 - sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on
Page 203 - By the shores of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. Dark behind it rose the forest. Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them ; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.
Page 97 - we find. RETRIBUTION. THOUGH the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small ; Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all. WHEN by night the frogs are croaking, kindle but a torch's fire, Ha

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