Poetry Screen Saver - Quotes

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ( 1807-1882 )

Black shadows fall
From the lindens tall,
That lift aloft their massive wall
Against the southern sky;
I hear the cry
Of their voices high
Falling dreamily through the sky,
But their forms I cannot see.
O sweet illusions of song
That tempt me everywhere,
In the lonely fields, and the throng
Of the crowded thoroughfare!
It is autumn; not without
But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
It is I that have grown old.
But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.