The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in six volumes |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
5. |
6. |
The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | ||
MUSINGS.
I sat by my window one night,
And watched how the stars grew high;
And the earth and skies were a splendid sight
To a sober and musing eye.
And watched how the stars grew high;
And the earth and skies were a splendid sight
To a sober and musing eye.
From heaven the silver moon shone down
With gentle and mellow ray,
And beneath the crowded roofs of the town
In broad light and shadow lay.
With gentle and mellow ray,
And beneath the crowded roofs of the town
In broad light and shadow lay.
A glory was on the silent sea,
And mainland and island too,
Till a haze came over the lowland lea,
And shrouded that beautiful blue.
And mainland and island too,
Till a haze came over the lowland lea,
And shrouded that beautiful blue.
Bright in the moon the autumn wood
Its crimson scarf unrolled,
And the trees like a splendid army stood
In a panoply of gold!
Its crimson scarf unrolled,
And the trees like a splendid army stood
In a panoply of gold!
I saw them waving their banners high,
As their crests to the night wind bowed,
And a distant sound on the air went by,
Like the whispering of a crowd.
As their crests to the night wind bowed,
And a distant sound on the air went by,
Like the whispering of a crowd.
306
Then I watched from my window how fast
The lights all around me fled,
As the wearied man to his slumber passed
And the sick one to his bed.
The lights all around me fled,
As the wearied man to his slumber passed
And the sick one to his bed.
All faded save one, that burned
With distant and steady light;
But that, too, went out—and I turned
Where my own lamp within shone bright!
With distant and steady light;
But that, too, went out—and I turned
Where my own lamp within shone bright!
Thus, thought I, our joys must die,
Yes—the brightest from earth we win:
Till each turns away, with a sigh,
To the lamp that burns brightly within.
Yes—the brightest from earth we win:
Till each turns away, with a sigh,
To the lamp that burns brightly within.
The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | ||