Something Left Undone (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. By ...
Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. By ...
Not a third that walks beside me, But five or six or more. Whether at dusk or daybreak Or at ...
Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square, And a Spirit came to his bedside and ...
Out of the poisonous East, Over a continent of blight, Like a maleficent Influence released From the most squalid cellerage ...
as a child he never plucked the wings off flies he didn't tie tin cans to cats' tails or lock ...
I sing of the decline of Henry Clay Who loved a white girl of uncommon size. Although a small man ...
I sat all morning in the college sick bay Counting bells knelling classes to a close. At two o'clock our ...
A man and a woman lie on a white bed. It is morning. I think Soon they will waken. On ...
The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and ...
Called like the shepherds bringing our worship to the manger to his bedside in his infancy Called like the fishermen ...
Like the wise men, we have seen your star the truth, your light shining down upon us into the darkness ...
He was our cantor, modeling the responsive lines to his homily on faith. Echoing, joining him, in remembering the mantra ...
I raced from court We stood beside you, beside the hospital bed, awaiting the surgeon Husband and pastor, touching you, ...
Hands joined in humble, reverent prayer around the tables of our meeting praying for comfort and release for our friend ...
O THE sad day! When friends shall shake their heads, and say Of miserable me-- 'Hark, how he groans! Look, ...
Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Door. His name, as I ought to have told you before, Is really ...
Most Holy Night, that still dost keep The keys of all the doors of sleep, To me when my tired ...
What is he buzzing in my ears? "Now that I come to die, Do I view the world as a ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
My voice that is for you the languid one, and gentle, Disturbs the velvet of the dark night's mantle, By ...
When you're lying in your hammock, sleeping soft and sleeping sound, Without a care or trouble on your mind, And ...
Success to the good and skilful Dr Murison, For golden opinions he has won From his patients one and all, ...
Jack Honest was only eight years of age when his father died, And by the death of his father, Mrs ...
In a humble room in London sat a pretty little boy, By the bedside of his sick mother her only ...
'Twas in the year of 1746, on a fine summer afternoon, When trees and flowers were in full bloom, That ...
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