A Quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Quote Topics

Bounty Dead Gone Graves Green Hand Keeps Like Living Neglected Rain Remain Remembrance Still Summer Summer Rain Unseen

Quote Author

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
American - Poet
February 27, 1807 - March 24, 1882

Just a little rain falling all around The grass lifts its head to the heavenly sound Just a little rain, just a little rain What have they done to the rain? Just a little boy standing in the rain The gentle rain that falls for years And the grass is gone and the boy disappears And the rain keeps falling like helpless tears And what have they done to the rain? Just a little breeze out of the sky The leaves nod their heads as the breeze blows by Just a little breeze with some smoke in its eye And what have they done to the rain?

Malvina Reynolds

O never harm the dreaming world, the world of green, the world of leaves, but let its million palms unfold the adoration of the trees It is a love in darkness wrought obedient to the unseen sun, longer than memory, a thought deeper than the graves of time. The turning spindles of the cells weave a slow forest over space, the dance of love, creation, out of time moves not a leaf, and out of summer, not a shade.

Kathleen Raine

Him who is dead and gone honor with remembrance, not with tears.

Saint John Chrysostom

He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.

William Shakespeare

song of elli (old age) "What is plucked will grow again, What is slain lives on, What is stolen will remain What is gone is gone... What is sea-born dies on land, Soft is trod upon. What is given burns the hand - What is gone is gone... Here is there, and high is low; All may be undone. What is true, no two men know - What is gone is gone... Who has choices need not choose. We must, who have none. We can love but what we lose - What is gone is gone.

Peter S. Beagle

I decide I'm not dead because I can hear the sound of the rain hitting the roof of the car. I'm alive because I'm listening to the rain, and the rain becomes the hand of God strumming his fingers on the roof, deciding what to do.

Lisa Genova

Green, the color of growth, or surgent life, enwraps the land. New green, still as individual as the plants themselves. Cool green, which will merge as the weeks pass, the Summer comes, into a canopy of shade of busy chlorophyll.

Hal Borland

There are places I'll remember All my life though some have changed Some forever not for better Some have gone and some remain All these places have their moments With lovers and friends I still can recall Some are dead and some are living In my life I've loved them all

John Lennon

There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living.

Washington Irving

Sometimes I'll open my voice to sing and I'll think, "I hope I hit the right notes." I do music for a living and I still feel like that, but it's good because it keeps me humble, it keeps my feet grounded, it keeps me trusting in God.

Dominic Balli

I fell for her in summer, my lovely summer girl, From summer she is made, my lovely summer girl, I’d love to spend a winter with my lovely summer girl, But I’m never warm enough for my lovely summer girl, It’s summer when she smiles, I’m laughing like a child, It’s the summer of our lives; we’ll contain it for a while She holds the heat, the breeze of summer in the circle of her hand I’d be happy with this summer if it’s all we ever had.

Maggie Stiefvater

The nimble lie Is like the second-hand upon a clock; We see it fly; while the hour-hand of truth Seems to stand still, and yet it moves unseen, And wins, at last, for the clock will not strike Till it has reached the goal.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When we are dead : it is the living only who cannot be forgiven the living only from whom men's indulgence and reverence are held off, like the rain by the hard east wind .

George Eliot

Meetings are places where dead ideas rise from their graves and eat the brains of the living.

Dave Barry

But you have gone now, all of you that were so beautiful when you were quick with life. Yet not gone, for you are still a living truth inside my mind. So how are you dead, my brothers and sisters, and all of you , when you live with me as surely as I live with myself.