Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Генри Уодсворт Лонгфелло)

Holidays

The holiest of all holidays are those
  Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
  The secret anniversaries of the heart,
  When the full river of feeling overflows;--
The happy days unclouded to their close;
  The sudden joys that out of darkness start
  As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
  Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
White as the gleam of a receding sail,
  White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,
  White as the whitest lily on a stream,
These tender memories are;--a fairy tale
  Of some enchanted land we know not where,
  But lovely as a landscape in a dream.

1. Autumnal Nightfall
2. Birds of Passage
3. A Ballad of the French Fleet
4. Bishop Sigurd at Salten-Fiord
5. In the Churchyard at Cambridge

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1662

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