Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(27 February 1807 – 24 March 1882 / Portland, Maine)

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems

161. In The Harbour: From The French 3/30/2010
162. In The Harbour: Loss And Gain 3/30/2010
163. In The Harbour: Memories 3/30/2010
164. In The Harbour: Moonlight 3/30/2010
165. In The Harbour: Possibilities 3/30/2010
166. In The Harbour: Prelude 3/30/2010
167. In The Harbour: Sundown 3/30/2010
168. In The Harbour: The Children's Crusade 3/30/2010
169. In The Harbour: The City And The Sea 3/30/2010
170. In The Harbour: The Four Lakes Of Madison 3/30/2010
171. In The Harbour: The Poet's Calendar 3/30/2010
172. In The Harbour: The Wine Of Jurançon. (From The French Of Charles Coran) 3/30/2010
173. In The Harbour: To The Avon 3/30/2010
174. Inscription On The Shanklin Fountain 3/30/2010
175. Introduction To The Song Of Hiawatha 1/1/2004
176. It Is Not Always May 12/31/2002
177. Italian Scenery 3/30/2010
178. Jeckoyva 3/30/2010
179. Jugurtha 1/3/2003
180. Keats 1/1/2004
181. Kéramos 3/30/2010
182. King Christian, A National Song Of Denmark. (From The Danish Of Johannes Evald) 3/30/2010
183. King Trisanku 1/3/2003
184. Ladder Of St. Augustine, The 12/31/2002
185. L'Envoi 12/31/2002
186. Light Of Stars, The 12/31/2002
187. Loss And Gain 12/31/2002
188. Mad River, In The White Mountains 3/30/2010
189. Maidenhood 12/31/2002
190. Memories 1/3/2003
191. Mezzo Cammin 12/31/2002
192. Midnight Mass For The Dying Year 12/31/2002
193. Milton 1/1/2004
194. Monte Cassino. Terra Di Lavoro. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth) 3/30/2010
195. Moods 3/30/2010
196. Moonlight 1/3/2003
197. Morituri Salutamus: Poem For The Fiftieth Anniversary 1/1/2004
198. Mr. Finney's Turnip 3/30/2010
199. Musings 3/30/2010
200. My Books 3/30/2010
Best Poem of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A Psalm Of Life

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 the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

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.

In the ...

Read the full of A Psalm Of Life

The Belfrey Of Bruges

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfrey old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.

As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood,
And the world through off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood.

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray,
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay.

[Hata Bildir]