Frases de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Fecha de nacimiento: 27. Febrero 1807
Fecha de muerte: 24. Marzo 1882
Otros nombres:Longfello Genri Uodsuort,Генри Уодсворт Лонгфелло
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow fue un poeta estadounidense que escribió trabajos que aún hoy siguen gozando de fama popular, entre los que están The Song of Hiawatha, Paul Revere's Ride y Évangéline. También escribió la primera traducción estadounidense de la Divina Comedia de Dante Alighieri y fue uno de los cinco miembros del grupo conocido como los Fireside Poets . Nació en Maine, vivió la mayor parte de su vida en Cambridge, Massachusetts, en una casa ocupada durante la Revolución Americana por el general George Washington y sus mandos.
Autores similares
Dante Alighieri31
poeta italiano
William Shakespeare449
escritor inglés
Francis Scott Fitzgerald82
escritor estadounidense
Terencio40
Marqués de Sade24
novelista y filósofo francés
Charles Baudelaire82
poeta y crítico de arte francésFrases Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
„There is a Reaper, whose name is Death“
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Context: 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.
The Reaper and the Flowers, st. 1 (1839).
„The warriors that fought for their country, and bled,
Have sunk to their rest“
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Context: p>The warriors that fought for their country, and bled,
Have sunk to their rest; the damp earth is their bed;
No stone tells the place where their ashes repose,
Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes.They died in their glory, surrounded by fame,
And Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim;
They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast,
And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.</p
"The Battle of Lovell's Pond," poem first published in the Portland Gazette (November 17, 1820).
„Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood“
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Context: Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple.
„Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change
To something new, to something strange“
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Context: Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change
To something new, to something strange;
Nothing that is can pause or stay;
The moon will wax, the moon will wane,
The mist and cloud will turn to rain,
The rain to mist and cloud again,
To-morrow be to-day.
[http://www.worldwideschool.org/library/books/lit/poetry/TheCompletePoeticalWorksofHenryWadsworthLongfellow/chap22.html Kéramos], st. 3 (1878).
„All nature, he holds, is a respiration
Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing hereafter
Will inhale it into his bosom again,
So that nothing but God alone will remain.“
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Context: I think I have proved, by profound researches,
The error of all those doctrines so vicious
Of the old Areopagite Dyonisius,
That are making such terrible work in the churches,
By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East,
And done into Latin by that Scottish beast,
Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain,
In the face of the truth, the error infernal,
That the universe is and must be eternal;
At first laying down, as a fact fundamental,
That nothing with God can be accidental;
Then asserting that God before the creation
Could not have existed, because it is plain
That, had he existed, he would have created;
Which is begging the question that should be debated,
And moveth me less to anger than laughter.
All nature, he holds, is a respiration
Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing hereafter
Will inhale it into his bosom again,
So that nothing but God alone will remain.
The Golden Legend, Pt. VI, A travelling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate of the College.
„Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending“
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Context: Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending;
Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.
Elegiac Verse, st. 14 (1879).
