A Quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tis always morning somewhere. — © Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tis always morning somewhere.
'Tis always morning somewhere in the world
'Tis always morning somewhere, and aboveThe awakening continents, from shore to shore,Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.
Tis the gift to be gentle, ’tis the gift to be fair, ’Tis the gift to wake and breathe the morning air, To walk every day in the path that we choose, Is the gift that we pray we will never never lose.
Tis light translateth night; 'tis inspiration Expounds experience; 'tis the west explains The east; 'tis time unfolds Eternity.
Tis a morning pure and sweet, And a dewy splendour falls On the little flower that clings To the turrets and the walls; 'Tis a morning pure and sweet, And the light and shadow fleet; She is walking in the meadow, And the woodland echo rings; In a moment we shall meet; She is singing in the meadow, And the rivulet at her feet Ripples on in light and shadow To the ballad that she sings.
Tis well to borrow from the good and the great; 'Tis wise to learn: 'tis God-like to create!
Morning ... 'tis Nature's gayest hour!
Every little detail of my life is, and has always been, surrounded by fashion - from the cup I drink my coffee from in the morning to my constant travels - fashion always pops up somewhere and somehow.
Capitalism does what it does and money doesn't belong to anybody. It just stays in someone's wallet for a while, then it goes somewhere else. It always goes somewhere and it is always about to go somewhere.
I have always been delighted at the prospect of a new day, a fresh try, one more start, with perhaps a bit of magic waiting somewhere behind the morning.
The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.
When any opinion leads us into absurdities, 'tis certainly false; but 'tis not certain an opinion is false, because 'tis of dangerous consequence.
And O there are days in this life, worth life and worth death. And O what a bright old song it is, that O 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love that makes the world go round!
Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base; Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, Like noxious vapors from the fulsome marsh When morning shines upon it.
Is that a birthday? 'tis, alas! too clear; 'Tis but the funeral of the former year.
Tis a principle of war that when you can use the lightning, 'tis better than cannon.
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