Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Sonnet Poems

Oh give me back the days when loose and free
To my blind passion were the curb and rein,
Oh give me back the angelic face again,
...

Not without fire can any workman mould
The iron to his preconceived design,
Nor can the artist without fire refine
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The course of my long life hath reached at last,
In fragile bark o'er a tempestuous sea,
The common harbor, where must rendered be
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O precious evenings! all too swiftly sped!
Leaving us heirs to amplest heritages
Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages,
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When the prime mover of my many sighs
Heaven took through death from out her earthly place,
Nature, that never made so fair a face,
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Lady, how can it chance--yet this we see
In long experience--that will longer last
A living image carved from quarries vast
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Nothing the greatest artist can conceive
That every marble block doth not confine
Within itself; and only its design
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