Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
United States
27 Feb 1807 // 24 Mar 1882
Poet
27 Feb 1807 // 24 Mar 1882
Poet
Quotes
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Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
A Psalm of Life
This is the place. Stand still, my steed,—
Let me review the scene,
And summon from the shadowy past
The forms that once have been.
Let me review the scene,
And summon from the shadowy past
The forms that once have been.
A Gleam of Sunshine
Trouble is the next best thing to enjoyment; there is no fate in the world so horrible as to have no share in either its joy or sorrows.
If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
Time has laid his hand
Upon my heart gently, not smiting it,
But as a harper lays his open palm
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
Upon my heart gently, not smiting it,
But as a harper lays his open palm
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
The Golden Legend
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.
And with his sickle keen
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
The Reaper and the Flowers
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.
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.
Resignation
Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate,
Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours
Weeping upon his bed has sate,
He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.
Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours
Weeping upon his bed has sate,
He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.
Hyperion
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind
exceeding small;
Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness
grinds he all.
exceeding small;
Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness
grinds he all.
Retribution. From the Sinngedichte of Friedrich von Logau
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
A Psalm of Life
Search
On Anger: "For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind."
Essays
Essays
On Destiny: "Our destiny exercises its influence over us even when, as yet, we have not learned its nature: it is our future that lays down the law of our today."
Human, All Too Human
Human, All Too Human
On Friendship: "A crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."
Essays
Essays