The Wreck Of The Hesperus / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

IT WAS the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter,

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,

That ope in the month of May. 

The Village Blacksmith / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Under a spreading chestnut-tree

The village smithy stands;

The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands;

And the muscles of his brawny arms

Are strong as iron bands.

The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The tide rises, the tide falls,

The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;

Along the sea-sands damp and brown

The traveler hastens toward the town,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,

But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;

The little waves, with their soft, white hands

Efface the footprints in the sands,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The Reaper And The Flowers. / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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.

"Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he;

"Have naught but the bearded grain?

Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,

I will give them all back again."

The Reaper And The Flowers / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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.

"Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he;

"Have naught but the bearded grain?

Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,

I will give them all back again."

The Midnight Ride Of Paul Revere / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Listen, my children, and you shall hear

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;

Hardly a man is now alive

Who remembers that famous day and year

He said to his friend, "If the British march

By land or sea from the town to-night,

Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch

Of the North Church tower as a signal light,- 

The Castle Builder / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks,

A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes,

A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks,

And towers that touch imaginary skies.

A fearless rider on his father's knee,

An eager listener unto stories told

At the Round Table of the nursery,

Of heroes and adventures manifold.

The Building of the Ship / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"Build me straight, O worthy Master!

Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel,

That shall laugh at all disaster,

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!"

The Building of the Long Serpent / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thorberg Skafting, master-builder,

In his ship-yard by the sea,

Whistling, said, "It would bewilder

Any man but Thorberg Skafting,

Any man but me!"

Near him lay the Dragon stranded,

Built of old by Raud the Strong,

And King Olaf had commanded

He should build another Dragon,

Twice as large and long.

The Belfry Of Bruges / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry 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 threw off the darkness, like the weeds of

widowhood. 

Nuremberg / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands

Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient,

stands. 

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and

song,

Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them

throng: 

Hymn To The Night / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the trailing garments of the Night

Sweep through her marble halls!

I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light

From the celestial walls! 

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,

Stoop o'er me from above;

The calm, majestic presence of the Night,

As of the one I love. 

Hiawatha's Childhood / 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.

Birds Of Passage / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Black shadows fall

From the lindens tall,

That lift aloft their massive wall

Against the southern sky; 

And from the realms

Of the shadowy elms

A tide-like darkness overwhelms

The fields that round us lie. 

A Psalm Of Life / Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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.