Make not thyself the judge of any man. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow More Quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow More Quotes From Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow painsongsweet I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions Henry Wadsworth Longfellow vengeanceprayerwar The market-place, the eager love of gain, Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow vanitygainspain Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow voicechoicesbeauty Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrecksmidnightsnow I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow naturekeysclouds Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow babeshepherdschristmas Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow departeddiesartist Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for miles below Henry Wadsworth Longfellow airwhitesweet The hearts of some women tremble like leaves at every breath of love which reaches them, and they are still again. Others, like the ocean, are moved only by the breath of a storm, and not so easily lulled to rest. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow stormoceanheart There is no flock, however watched and tended, but one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside howsoe'er defended, but has one vacant chair. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lambschairsdeath For next to being a great poet is the power of understanding one. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow nextpoetunderstanding Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow saintvicesfeet Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow risingforgivenesswaiting Youth wrenches the sceptre from old age, and sets the crown on its own head before it is entitled to it. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow crownsyouthage Every man is in some sort a failure to himself. No one ever reaches the heights to which he aspires. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow heightfailuremen Like black hulks the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the billowy sea of grass. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow anchorsseatree Every man has a paradise around him till he sins, and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow angeledenmen So disasters come not singly; But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wiseRound their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow sickairdark Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow menhandsreality
