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	<title>Classic Poetry &#187; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</title>
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	<description>Great poems by great poets.</description>
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		<title>The Harvest Moon</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-harvest-moon/744/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-harvest-moon/744/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[It is the Harvest Moon!  On gilded vanes
  And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
  And their aerial neighborhoods of nests
  Deserted, on the curtained window-panes
Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
  And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
  Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,
  With the last sheaves return the laboring wains!
All things are symbols: the external shows
  Of Nature have their image in the mind,
  As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves;
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>The Day Is Done</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-day-is-done/743/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-day-is-done/743/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[The day is done, and the darkness
   Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
   From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
   Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
   That my soul cannot resist:
   
A feeling of sadness and longing,
   That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
   As the mist resembles the rain.
   
Come, read to me some poem,
   Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
   And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>The Cross of Snow</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-cross-of-snow/742/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-cross-of-snow/742/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face--the face of one long dead--
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died, and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side.
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Children&#8217;s Hour</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-children&#039;s-hour/741/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-children&#039;s-hour/741/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Between the dark and the daylight,
   When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
   That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
   The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
   And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
   Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
   And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
   Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
   To take me by surprise.
]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>Snow-Flakes</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/snow-flakes/740/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/snow-flakes/740/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[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.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
    Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
    In the white countenance confession,
      The troubled sky reveals
      The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
    Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
    Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>My Lost Youth</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/my-lost-youth/739/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/my-lost-youth/739/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Often I think of the beautiful town  
  That is seated by the sea;  
Often in thought go up and down  
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,  
  And my youth comes back to me.           
    And a verse of a Lapland song  
    Is haunting my memory still  
    'A boy's will is the wind's will,  
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'  
  
I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,            
  And catch, in sudden gleams,  
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,  
And islands that were the Hesperides  
  Of all my boyish dreams.  ]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>Introduction to Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/introduction-to-evangeline:-a-tale-of-acadie/738/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/introduction-to-evangeline:-a-tale-of-acadie/738/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

    This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Haunted Houses</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/haunted-houses/737/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/haunted-houses/737/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses.Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Christmas Bells</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/christmas-bells/736/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/christmas-bells/736/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play, 
    And wild and sweet 
    The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

And thought how, as the day had come, 
The belfries of all Christendom 
    Had rolled along 
    The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

Till ringing, singing on its way, 
The world revolved from night to day, 
    A voice, a chime, 
    A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

Then from each black, accursed mouth 
The cannon thundered in the South, 
    And with the sound ]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Wreck Of The Hesperus</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-wreck-of-the-hesperus/735/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-wreck-of-the-hesperus/735/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
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				<category><![CDATA[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[It was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little daughter,
To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West, now South.

Then up spake an old Sailor,
Had sailed to the Spanish Main,
'I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night, the moon had a golden ring,]]></description>
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