Round Autumn's mouldering urn Loud mourns the chill and cheerless gale, When nightfall shades the
I heard the bells on Christmas day Their old familiar carols play, And wild and sweet the words r
Come to me, O ye children! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have
O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but play; Whereon it is enough for me, N
Sing, O Song of Hiawatha, Of the happy days that followed, In the land of the Ojibways, In the pl
There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, h
St. Botolph's Town! Hither across the plains And fens of Lincolnshire, in garb austere, There came
A fleet with flags arrayed Sailed from the port of Brest, And the Admiral's ship displayed The si
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; But front
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons, Ere yet his last he breathed, To the merry monks of Croyland His dr
When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'T is sweet to visit the
'A soldier of the Union mustered out,' Is the inscription on an unknown grave At Newport News, bes
On the green little isle of Inchkenneth, Who is it that walks by the shore, So gay with his Highla
Allah gives light in darkness, Allah gives rest in pain, Cheeks that are white with weeping Al
Even as the Blessed, at the final summons, Shall rise up quickened, each one from his grave, Weari
I stand again on the familiar shore, And hear the waves of the distracted sea Piteously calling an
In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown; Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded
I said unto myself, if I were dead, What would befall these children? What would be Their fate, wh
This is the place. Stand still, my steed, Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy Pas
I leave you, ye cold mountain chains, Dwelling of warriors stark and frore! You, may these eyes
poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow #20 on top 500 poets Poet's PagePoemsQuotesCommentsStatsE-BooksBiogr
Black shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their massive wall Against the southern
The day is ending, The night is descending; The marsh is frozen, The river dead. Through cloud
On sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell; And, where the maple's leaf
By his evening fire the artist Pondered o'er his secret shame; Baffled, weary, and disheartened,
I am poor and old and blind; The sun burns me, and the wind Blows through the city gate And cover
Blind Bartimeus at the gates Of Jericho in darkness waits; He hears the crowd;--he hears a breath
Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, Brighter
Thus then, much care-worn, The son of Healfden Sorrowed evermore, Nor might the prudent hero
Simon Danz has come home again, From cruising about with his buccaneers; He has singed the beard o
The sun is set; and in his latest beams Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, Slowly upon the a
I know a maiden fair to see, Take care! She can both false and friendly be, Beware! Beware!
As the dim twilight shrouds The mountain's purple crest, And Summer's white and folded clouds Are
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the si
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers,
I have read, in some old, marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of
When the summer fields are mown, When the birds are fledged and flown, And the dry leaves strew
It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that
Annie of Tharaw, my true love of old, She is my life, and my goods, and my gold. Annie of Thar
Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea, Where the waves and mountains meet, Where ami