Great poems

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Hiawatha's Departure

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,

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The Ghosts

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Never stoops the soaring vulture
On his quarry in the desert,
On the sick or wounded bison,
But another vulture, watching

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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!"

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The Three Kings

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they travelled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

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Blessing The Cornfields

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sing, O Song of Hiawatha,
Of the happy days that followed,
In the land of the Ojibways,
In the pleasant land and peaceful!

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The Song of Hiawatha: X

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"As unto the bow the cord is,
So unto the man is woman,
Though she bends him, she obeys him,
Though she draws him, yet she follows,
Useless each without the other!"

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The Death Of Kwasind

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Far and wide among the nations
Spread the name and fame of Kwasind;
No man dared to strive with Kwasind,
No man could compete with Kwasind.

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The Jewish Cemetery at Newport

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves,
Close by the street of this fair seaport town,
Silent beside the never-silent waves,
At rest in all this moving up and down!

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Something Left Undone

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Labor with what zeal we will,
Something still remains undone,
Something uncompleted still
Waits the rising of the sun.

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The Occultation Of Orion

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I saw, as in a dream sublime,
The balance in the hand of Time.
O'er East and West its beam impended;
And day, with all its hours of light,

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Introduction To The Song Of Hiawatha

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Should you ask me,
whence these stories?
Whence these legends and traditions,
With the odors of the forest

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Hiawatha's Childhood

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Downward through the evening twilight,
In the days that are forgotten,
In the unremembered ages,
From the full moon fell Nokomis,

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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.

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Nuremberg

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands
Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient,
stands.

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To William E. Channing

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The pages of thy book I read,
And as I closed each one,
My heart, responding, ever said,
"Servant of God! well done!"

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The Arsenal At Springfield

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
But front their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.

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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

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The Good Part, That Shall Not Be Taken Away

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

She dwells by Great Kenhawa's side,
In valleys green and cool;
And all her hope and all her pride
Are in the village school.

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The Slave In The Dismal Swamp

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp
The hunted Negro lay;
He saw the fire of the midnight camp,
And heard at times a horse's tramp
And a bloodhound's distant bay.

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The Bridge

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.