Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes & Sayings

What discord should we bring into the universe if our prayers were all answered! Then we should govern the world, and not God. And do you think we should govern it better? — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Some critics are like chimney-sweepers; they put out the fire below, and frighten the swallows from their nests above; they scrape a long time in the chimney, cover themselves with soot, and bring nothing away but a bag of cinders, and then sing from the top of the house as if they had built it. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There's nothing in this world so sweet as love. And next to love the sweetest thing is hate. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Many people do not allow their principles to take root, but pull them up every now and then, as children do the flowers they have planted, to see if they are growing. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

But ah! what once has been shall be no more! The groaning earth in travail and in pain Brings forth its races, but does not restore, And the dead nations never rise again. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Life hath quicksands, Life hath snares! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

If thou art worn and hard beset,
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget;
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions contending; Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding, Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings of duty! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Fair words gladden so many a heart. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

To-day, to-morrow, every day, to thousands the end of the world is close at hand. And why should we fear it? We walk here, as it were, in the crypts of life; at times, from the great cathedral above us, we can hear the organ and the chanting choir; we see the light stream through the open door, when some friend goes up before us; and shall we fear to mount the narrow staircase of the grave that leads us out of this uncertain twilight into life eternal? — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thus thought I, as by night I read Of the great army of the dead, The trenches cold and damp, The starved and frozen camp,
The wounded from the battle-plain, In dreary hospitals of pain, The cheerless corridors, The cold and stony floors. Lo! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

O, how wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul! The intellect of man sits enthroned visibly upon his forehead and in his eye; and the heart of man is written upon his countenance. But the soul reveals itself in the voice only; as God revealed himself to the prophet of old in the still, small voice; and in a voice from the burning bush. The soul of man is audible, not visible. A sound alone betrays the flowing of the eternal fountain, invisible to man! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Every author has the whole past to contend with; all the centuries are upon him. He is compared with Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The course of my long life hath reached at last in fragile bark over a tempestuous sea the common harbor, where must rendered be account for all the actions of the past. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All the means of action
the shapeless masses
the materials
lie everywhere about us. What we need is the celestial fire to change the flint into the transparent crystal, bright and clear. That fire is genius. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Each day is a branch of the Tree of Life laden heavily with fruit. If we lie down lazily beneath it, we may starve; but if we shake the branches, some of the fruit will fall for us. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

She floats upon the river of his thoughts. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face the face of one long dead Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Decide not rashly. The decision made
Can never be recalled. The gods implore not,
Plead not, solicit not; they only offer
Choice and occasion, which once being passed
Return no more. Dost thou accept the gift? — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Every dew-drop and rain-drop had a whole heaven within it. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

He had mittens, Minjekahwun, Magic mittens made of deer-skin; When upon his hands he wore them, He could smite the rocks asunder, He could grind them into powder. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Love gives itself; it is not bought. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Resolve, and thou art free. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full of flowers. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Many have genius, but, wanting art, are forever dumb. The two must go together to form the great poet, painter, or sculptor. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

However things may seem, no evil thing is success and no good thing is failure. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Perhaps there lives some dreamy boy, untaught
In schools, some graduate of the field or street,
Who shall become a master of art,
An admiral sailing the high seas of thought
Fearless and first, and steering with his fleet
For lands not yet laid down in any chart. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.
So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

O lovely river of Yvette!
O darling river! like a bride,
Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette
Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide.
O lovely river Yvette!
O darling stream! on balanced wings
The wood-birds sang the chansonnette
That here a wandering poet sings. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Rule by patience, Laughing Water! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east-wind was his breath. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All your strength in is your union. All your danger is in discord.
Therefore be at peace henceforward, And as brothers live together. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Let us labor for an inward stillness
An inward stillness and an inward healing.
That perfect silence where the lips and heart
Are still, and we no longer entertain
Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions,
But God alone speaks to us and we wait
In singleness of heart that we may know
His will, and in the silence of our spirits,
That we may do His will and do that only — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The emigrant's way o'er the western desert is mark'd by
Camp-fires long consum'd and bones that bleach in the sunshine. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Youth wrenches the sceptre from old age, and sets the crown on its own head before it is entitled to it. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

To be strong is to be happy! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Nile, forever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Wondrous strong are the spells of fiction. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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

Learn to labour and to wait. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

If we love one another, nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The low desire, the base design
That makes another's virtues less. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Happy, thrice happy, every one Who sees his labor well begun, And not perplexed and multiplied, By idly waiting for time and tide! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary,
And I am near to fall, infirm and weary. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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

Oh, what a glory doth this world put on, for him who with a fervent heart goes forth under the bright and glorious sky, and looks on duties well performed, and days well spent. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Ah, how skillful grows the hand
That obeyeth Love's command!
It is the heart, and not the brain,
That to the highest doth attain,
And he who followeth Love's behest
Far excelleth all the rest! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There's not a ship that sails the ocean, But every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small, And help to build the wooden wall! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Day of the Lord, as all our days should be! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

And the smoke rose slowly, slowly,
Through the tranquil air of morning,
First a single line of darkness,
Then a denser, bluer vapor,
Then a snow-white cloud unfolding,
Like the tree-tops of the forest,
Ever rising, rising, rising,
Till it touched the top of heaven,
Till it broke against the heaven,
And rolled outward all around it. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The student has his Rome, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

How can I tell the signals and the signs
By which one heart another heart divines?
How can I tell the many thousand ways
By which it keeps the secret it betrays? — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Every man has his secret sorrows ... — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The true poet is a friendly man. He takes to his arms even cold and inanimate things, and rejoices in his heart. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

No literature is complete until the language it was written in is dead. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

For it is the fate of a woman
Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless,
Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence.
Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women
Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers
Runnng through caverns of darkness ... — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

People of a lively imagination are generally curious, and always so when a little in love. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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

Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Know how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Mormons make the marriage ring, like the ring of Saturn, fluid, not solid, and keep it in its place by numerous satellites. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The morrow was a bright September morn; The earth was beautiful as if newborn; There was nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The highest exercise of imagination is not to devise what has no existence, but rather to perceive what really exists, though unseen by the outward eye-not creation, but insight. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A stiff letter galls one like a stiff shirt collar
whilst a sheet garnished here and there with a careless blot
and here and there a dash
but in the main full of excellent matter, is like a clever fellow in a dirty shirt whom we value for the good humour he brings with him and not for the garb he wears. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thou shalt learn
The wisdom early to discern
True beauty in utility. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods are everywhere — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Often times we call a man [or woman] cold when he [or she] is only sad. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There rises the moon, broad and tranquil, through the branches of a walnut tree on a hill opposite. I apostrophize it in the words of Faust; "O gentle moon, that lookest for the last time upon my agonies!"
or something to that effect. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

How absolute and omnipotent is the silence of night! And yet the stillness seems almost audible! From all the measureless depths of air around us comes a half-sound, a half-whisper, as if we could hear the crumbling and falling away of earth and all created things, in the great miracle of nature, decay and reproduction, ever beginning, never ending,
the gradual lapse and running of the sand in the great hour-glass of Time. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

They who go Feel not the pain of parting; it is they Who stay behind that suffer. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In character, in manner, in style, in all the things, the supreme excellence is simplicity — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Evil is only good perverted. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Ah! What would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Authors must not, like Chinese soldiers, expect to win victories by turning somersets in the air. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I love thee, as the good love heaven. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care of your garden And keep out the weeds, Fill it with sunshine, Kind words, and Kind deeds. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow