Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Favorite Poems
    Favorite Poems
    Favorite Poems
    Ebook150 pages1 hour

    Favorite Poems

    By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    4/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882) was the most popular American poet of his time, and one of the most famous American poets of all time. It has been said that certain of his poems — the long narratives Evangeline and The Song of Hiawatha most notably — were once read in every literate home in America. A former teacher who fulfilled his dream to make a living as a poet, Longfellow taught at Bowdoin and Harvard, was eventually honored for his poetry with degrees from Oxford and Cambridge, and is one of the few Americans to have a monument dedicated to his memory in Westminster Abbey. This choice collection of his works, which reflects his mastery of a rich variety of poetic forms and meters, includes one of his best narrative poems, The Courtship of Miles Standish. Here, too, are such famous poems as "The Village Blacksmith," "The Wreck of the Hesperus," "The Children's Hour," "Paul Revere's Ride," and other poems on subjects ranging from lost youth and Giotto's Tower to slavery and the building of a ship. Includes a selection from the Common Core State Standards Initiative: "Paul Revere's Ride."
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDover Publications
    Release dateOct 8, 2012
    ISBN9780486153551
    Favorite Poems

    Read more from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Related to Favorite Poems

    Related ebooks

    Poetry For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Three Authors in Search of Melville

      Sep 25, 2017

      "There are some enterprises in which a careful disorderliness is the true method." The post Three Authors in Search of Melville appeared first on The Millions.

      6 min read

    • Article

      Fighting with Czesław Miłosz

      Oct 24, 2018

      Fighting with Czesław Miłosz
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Little Mermaid

      Jan 1, 2020

      The Little Mermaid
      4 min read

    • Article

      Reese's Horror Over murder Plot!

      Jul 24, 2022

      Bestselling author Delia Owens is renowned for her mysterious murder novel, Where The Crawdads Sing, which was recently adapted into a film, thanks to actress-turned-producer Reese Witherspoon. But the bright lights of Hollywood have unexpectedly tur

      2 min read

    • Article

      The Mirror of Erised: On Death, Harry Potter, and Retreating to Childhood Reads

      Aug 16, 2018

      I’d known Monica 20 years when her sister was killed in a hit-and-run motorcycle accident. We spent our childhoods in a tiny Bay Area town that I left at 14. I only went back to visit twice. In the years between, Monica and I sent each other videos,

      4 min read

    • Article

      Stars Come Out

      Nov 3, 2022

      Stars Come Out
      5 min read

    • Article

      Tessa Castro

      Mar 9, 2022

      IN COMPETITION No 277 you were invited to write a poem called Morning Sounds. The entries were vivid: half domestic, half outdoor. Tim Lloyd observed that ‘A bin lorry approaching in reverse/Sounds like an asthmatic seal.’ Liz Piper remembered, durin

      2 min read

    • Article

      One Down, Several Across

      Nov 5, 2020

      One Down, Several Across
      5 min read

    • Article

      Mountain Time

      Jan 1, 2021

      In the air you don’t know who you are or where My own self feels it is in wind being born These are currents a man made one eighth of smokeless fire fears but chooses A path south from Anchorage to a Mountain House Ungovern the northern land to pass

      10 min read

    • Article

      Five Poems

      Mar 2, 2020

      Some people jump, some people dive,Others inch by inch arrive And give themselves up to the chill,Piecemeal, with a grudging will: First toes, then ankles tempt the cold,And backs of knees, that, tender, fold, Then thighs that start to pimple, blo

      2 min read

    • Article

      The Island (catullus 64)

      Mar 1, 2022

      Back then the evergreens tumbled downriverfrom the glaze-white runoff to the boot-stirred puddlesof amber young men who fulfilled our destiny,who clambered into ships, on horses, and in wagonspainting the newfound landscapes ours.Our calling was nobl

      9 min read

    • Article

      Meet Your New Favorite Poet

      Feb 20, 2019

      Meet Your New Favorite Poet
      6 min read

    • Article

      In Memory Of Derek Alton Walcott

      Mar 15, 2018

      1 Island traffic slows to a haltas screeching gulls reluctantto lift heavenwardcongregate like mourners in saltcrustedkelp, as the repellentnews spreads to colder shores: Sir Derek is no more.Bandwidths, clogged by streamingtributes, carry the pitcho

      2 min read

    • Article

      Until The Sea Closed Over Us And The Light Was Gone

      Jul 1, 2020

      —Dante, Canto XXVI But if the truth is dreamed of toward the morning—El Paso Although it was really last summer’s song,all this summer Despacito played on as slower then I turned myself to gazeupon Juarez. The summer everything hurts my eyes, a dozen

      6 min read

    • Article

      Poetry of Place

      May 30, 2023

      Poetry of Place
      9 min read

    • Article

      Stop Hating on Adjectives!

      Jun 12, 2019

      A common admonition in creative writing pedagogy is, “Cut as many adjectives as possible.” I propose that this rule springs from mere prejudice. The post Stop Hating on Adjectives! appeared first on The Millions.

      7 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      May 1, 2019

      Like the way Galway Kinnell fell asleep in 1968 in Athens, Ohio,reading from a wadded-up new poem pulled from his pocket,started too late at night the night before—the occasion, exactly, the Ohio Poetry Circuit,calling for, often, two readings a day,

      2 min read

    • Article

      Wonderful Things

      Sep 7, 2023

      SHORTLISTED IN WM’S TUTANKHAMUN POETRY COMPETITION WERE: Guy Carter, Petersfield, Hampshire; Christine Griffin, Hucclecote, Gloucester; Sarah Das Gupta, Mamuden, Essex; Tracey Kitchen, Daventry, Northamptonshire; Lesley Mason, Norwich, Norfolk; Julie

      5 min read

    • Article

      Bard In The Woods

      Nov 30, 2020

      Bard In The Woods
      4 min read

    • Article

      Must-Read Poetry: November 2020

      Nov 5, 2020

      Stop obsessively refreshing the New York Times's elections page, and check out these new books of poetry by Alice Quinn, Margaret Atwood, Yi Lei, Karina Borowicz, Valzhyna Mort, and Paul Celan. The post Must-Read Poetry: November 2020 appeared first

      6 min read

    • Article

      The Epic Of Gilgamesh

      Jan 1, 2020

      My friends, who can reach heaven? The monster bellows like a river swollen with flood.Many are consumed in his fiery breath. My friends, who can reach heaven? Let us ask the mountain for a sign.Let us cut the spirits from the cedars. My friends, who

      3 min read

    • Article

      Must-Read Poetry: September 2017

      Sep 11, 2017

      Isn’t that one of the purest goals of poetry—to justify our breaths? To recognize that we matter? The post Must-Read Poetry: September 2017 appeared first on The Millions.

      8 min read

    • Article

      Poem Of The Week: The North Wind By Anne Brontë

      May 8, 2023

      That wind is from the North, I know it well;No other breeze could have so wild a swell.Now deep and loud it thunders round my cell,Then faintly dies,And softly sighs,And moans and murmurs mournfully.I know its language; thus is speaks to me – ‘I have

      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Favorite Poems

    4/5

    40 ratings2 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 4/5
      A brief but complete compilation of poems to get to know Longfellow.I loved "The courtship of Miles Standish" and his nostalgic recollections of lost times and youth. Very sensitive and solemn, good to be aware of the earth beneath your feet.
    • 4/5
      I never understood the need for poetry and I have always had trouble with reading the written poetic forms but I sure do like Mr. Longfellow's storytelling.

    Book preview

    Favorite Poems - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Hymn to the Night

    ‘Aσπασ e9780486153551_img_8055.gif η, τρ e9780486153551_img_8055.gif λλιστoς¹

    I heard the trailing garments of the Night

    Sweep through her marble halls!

    I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light

    From the celestial walls!

    I felt her presence, by its spell of might,

    Stoop o’er me from above;

    The calm, majestic presence of the Night,

    As of the one I love.

    I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,

    The manifold, soft chimes,

    That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,

    Like some old poet’s rhymes.

    From the cool cisterns of the midnight air

    My spirit drank repose;

    The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,—

    From those deep cisterns flows.

    O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear

    What man has borne before!

    Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,

    And they complain no more.

    Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!

    Descend with broad-winged flight,

    The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,

    The best-beloved Night!

    A Psalm of Life

    WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG

    MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST

    Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

    Life is but an empty dream!—

    For the soul is dead that slumbers,

    And things are not what they seem.

    Life is real! Life is earnest!

    And the grave is not its goal;

    Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

    Was not spoken of the soul.

    Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

    Is our destined end or way;

    But to act, that each to-morrow

    Find us farther than to-day.

    Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

    And our hearts, though stout and brave,

    Still, like muffled drums, are beating

    Funeral marches to the grave.

    In the world’s broad field of battle,

    In the bivouac of Life,

    Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

    Be a hero in the strife!

    Trust no Future, howe‘er pleasant!

    Let the dead Past bury its dead!

    Act,—act in the living Present!

    Heart within, and God o’erhead!

    Lives of great men all remind us

    We can make our lives sublime,

    And, departing, leave behind us

    Footprints on the sands of time;

    Footprints, that perhaps another,

    Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

    A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

    Seeing, shall take heart again.

    Let us, then, be up and doing,

    With a heart for any fate;

    Still achieving, still pursuing,

    Learn to labor and to wait.

    The Reaper and the Flowers

    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.

    Shall I have naught that is fair? saith he;

    "Have naught but the bearded grain?

    Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,

    I will give them all back again."

    He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,

    He kissed their drooping leaves;

    It was for the Lord of Paradise

    He bound them in his sheaves.

    My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,

    The Reaper said, and smiled;

    "Dear tokens of the earth are they,

    Where He was once a child.

    "They shall all bloom in fields of light,

    Transplanted by my care,

    And saints, upon their garments white,

    These sacred blossoms wear."

    And the mother gave, in tears and pain,

    The flowers she most did love;

    She knew she should find them all again

    In the fields of light above.

    Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,

    The Reaper came that day;

    ’T was an angel visited the green earth,

    And took the flowers away.

    The Light of Stars

    The night is come, but not too soon;

    And sinking silently,

    All silently, the little moon

    Drops down behind the sky.

    There is no light in earth or heaven

    But the cold light of stars;

    And the first watch of night is given

    To the red planet Mars.

    Is it the tender star of love?

    The star of love and dreams?

    Oh no! from that blue tent above

    A hero’s armor gleams.

    And earnest thoughts within me rise,

    When I behold afar,

    Suspended in the evening skies,

    The shield of that red star.

    O star of strength! I see thee stand

    And smile upon my pain;

    Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,

    And I am strong again.

    Within my breast there is no light

    But the cold light of stars;

    I give the first watch of the night

    To the red planet Mars.

    The star of the unconquered will,

    He rises in my breast,

    Serene, and resolute, and still,

    And calm, and self-possessed.

    And thou, too, whosoe’er thou art,

    That readest this brief psalm,

    As one by one thy hopes depart,

    Be resolute and calm.

    Oh, fear not in a world like this,

    And thou shalt know erelong,

    Know how sublime a thing it is

    To suffer and be strong.

    The Wreck of the Hesperus

    It was the schooner Hesperus,

    That sailed the wintry sea;

    And the skipper had taken his little daughter,

    To bear him company.

    Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

    Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

    And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,

    That ope in the month of May.

    The skipper he stood beside the helm,

    His pipe was in his mouth,

    And he watched how the veering flaw did blow

    The smoke now West, now South.

    Then up and spake an old Sailòr,

    Had sailed to the Spanish Main,

    "I pray thee, put into yonder port,

    For I fear a hurricane.

    "Last night, the moon had a golden ring,

    And to-night no moon we see!"

    The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,

    And a scornful laugh laughed he.

    Colder and louder blew the wind,

    A gale from the Northeast,

    The snow fell hissing in the brine,

    And the billows frothed like yeast.

    Down came the storm, and smote amain

    The vessel in its strength;

    She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,

    Then leaped her cables length.

    "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,

    And do not tremble so;

    For I can weather the roughest gale

    That ever wind did blow."

    He wrapped her warm in his seaman’s coat

    Against the stinging blast;

    He cut a rope from a broken spar,

    And bound her to the mast.

    "O father! I hear the church-bells ring,

    Oh say, what may it be?"

    ’T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!—

    And he steered for the open sea.

    "O father! I hear the sound of guns,

    Oh say, what may it be?"

    "Some ship in distress, that cannot live

    In such an angry sea!"

    "O father! I see a gleaming light,

    Oh say, what may it be?"

    But the father answered never a word,

    A frozen corpse was he.

    Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,

    With his face turned to the skies,

    The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow

    On his fixed and glassy eyes.

    Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed

    That saved she might be;

    And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave,

    On the Lake of Galilee.

    And fast through the midnight dark and drear,

    Through the whistling sleet and snow,

    Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept

    Tow’rds the reef of Norman’s Woe.

    And ever the fitful gusts between

    A sound came from the land;

    It was the sound of the trampling surf

    On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1