Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Loud Quotations

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining.

I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms.

Each new epoch in life seems an encounter. There is a tussle and a cloud of dust, and we come out of it triumphant or crest-fallen, according as we have borne ourselves.

Some poems are like the Centaurs--a mingling of man and beast, and begotten of Ixion on a cloud.

The sun is set; and in his latest beams Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, The falling mantle of the Prophet seems.

Nature paints not; In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven; With sunsets, and the lovely forms of clouds; And flying vapors.

Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.

See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks!

The hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.

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.