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Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.

Kavanagh: A Tale (1849)

They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast,
And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.

Thy fate is the common fate of all;
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Ballads and Other Poems (1842)

Music is the universal language of mankind — poetry their universal pastime and delight.

Outre-Mer (1835)

Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.

Kavanagh: A Tale (1849)

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Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.