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The Complete Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) was an American poet. He wrote the first American translation of Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy and was one of the five members of the group known as the Fireside Poets. He established his literary career by submitting poetry and prose to various newspapers and magazines. Between January 1824 and his graduation in 1825, he had published nearly 40 minor poems. About 24 of them appeared in the short-lived Boston periodical The United States Literary Gazette. After graduating in 1825, he was offered a job as professor of modern languages at his alma mater. The story, possibly apocryphal, is that an influential trustee, Benjamin Orr, had been so impressed Longfellow's translation of Horace that he was hired under the condition that he travel to Europe to study French, Spanish and Italian. When he returned to the United States in 1836, Longfellow took up the professorship at Harvard University. He began publishing his poetry, including Voices of the Night in 1839 and Ballads and Other Poems, which included his famous poem The Village Blacksmith, in 1841. His other works include Paul Revere's Ride, A Psalm of Life, The Song of Hiawatha, Evangeline and Christmas Bells.
1527 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1859
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906 people want to read
About the author
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
2,872 books735 followersExtremely popular works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, American poet, in the United States in his lifetime, include
The Song of Hiawatha
in 1855 and a translation from 1865 to 1867 of
Divine Comedy
of Dante Alighieri.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow educated. His originally wrote the "Paul Revere's Ride" and "Evangeline." From New England, he first completed work of the fireside.
Bowdoin College graduated Longefellow, who served as a professor, afterward studied in Europe, and later moved at Harvard. After a miscarriage, Mary Potter Longfellow, his first wife, died in 1835. He first collected Voices of the Night (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841).
From teaching, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow retired in 1854 to focus on his writing in the headquarters of of George Washington in Cambridge, Massachusetts, during the Revolutionary War for the remainder.
Dress of Frances Appleton Longfellow, his second wife, caught fire; she then sustained burns and afterward died in 1861. After her death, Longfellow had difficulty writing and focused on from foreign languages.
Longfellow wrote musicality of many known lyrics and often presented stories of mythology and legend. He succeeded most overseas of his day. He imitated European styles and wrote too sentimentally for critics.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow educated. His originally wrote the "Paul Revere's Ride" and "Evangeline." From New England, he first completed work of the fireside.
Bowdoin College graduated Longefellow, who served as a professor, afterward studied in Europe, and later moved at Harvard. After a miscarriage, Mary Potter Longfellow, his first wife, died in 1835. He first collected Voices of the Night (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841).
From teaching, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow retired in 1854 to focus on his writing in the headquarters of of George Washington in Cambridge, Massachusetts, during the Revolutionary War for the remainder.
Dress of Frances Appleton Longfellow, his second wife, caught fire; she then sustained burns and afterward died in 1861. After her death, Longfellow had difficulty writing and focused on from foreign languages.
Longfellow wrote musicality of many known lyrics and often presented stories of mythology and legend. He succeeded most overseas of his day. He imitated European styles and wrote too sentimentally for critics.
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
August 20, 2022
Longfellow uses diverse meters with ease. His best poems convey a wistful melancholic picaresque. His worst poems offer banal pieties. Many do both.
May 25, 2020
Excellent. If you enjoy metered poetry and narrative poetry, then you will enjoy Longfellow. I understand why he was popular in his day - Longfellow is a fascinating story-teller and a talented poet (in the traditional aspects of meter and rhyme) who uses allusions and complex vocabulary that are educated while still being accessible. Longfellow is also a polyglot, translating poems from eight different languages (as well as other regional dialects for those languages).
Like all poets, when you read a complete works, some works are better than others. For Longfellow, "The Tales of Wayside Inn" was by far my favorite book (it includes the famous "Paul Revere" poem) with "The Song of Hiawatha" and "Evangeline" coming in close behind it.
Well worth the time to read. (It took 1.5 years, reading off and on, for me). Would recommend to anyone who has interest in American poetry or narrative poetry.
Like all poets, when you read a complete works, some works are better than others. For Longfellow, "The Tales of Wayside Inn" was by far my favorite book (it includes the famous "Paul Revere" poem) with "The Song of Hiawatha" and "Evangeline" coming in close behind it.
Well worth the time to read. (It took 1.5 years, reading off and on, for me). Would recommend to anyone who has interest in American poetry or narrative poetry.
Read
March 27, 2016Amazingly prolific!
November 12, 2017
I enjoyed every page. Longfellow is amazing.
February 27, 2021
I did but expect over 2,000 pages of poetry (granted, I read a copy of this as an ebook, but still!). I did skip over here and there. I loved Longfellow's imagery of meadows and seas. There are some poems are very much appreciated, and some that I just didn't connect as well too.
“A Psalm of Life” (1839)
(*probably my favorite!)
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,—act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
“The Children’s Hour” (1863)
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.
A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!
They climb up into my turret
O’er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!
I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!
“The Rainy Day” (1842)
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
“The Reapers and the Flowers” (1839)
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
“Shall I have naught that is fair?” saith he;
“Have naught but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.”
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
“My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,”
The Reaper said, and smiled;
“Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where He was once a child.
“They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.”
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
‘T was an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
“A Psalm of Life” (1839)
(*probably my favorite!)
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,—act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
“The Children’s Hour” (1863)
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.
A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!
They climb up into my turret
O’er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!
I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!
“The Rainy Day” (1842)
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
“The Reapers and the Flowers” (1839)
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
“Shall I have naught that is fair?” saith he;
“Have naught but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.”
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
“My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,”
The Reaper said, and smiled;
“Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where He was once a child.
“They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.”
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
‘T was an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
July 6, 2024
Longfellow's poetry is extraordinary for numerous reasons.
Primarily, he was a romantic at heart. His poems mirror the picturesequeness of the old world. He enjoys the honour of developing man’s interest in his country's past. Longfellow's romanticism is disciplined by classicism. The moralising tone of the Christian ethics are reflected in his poems.
The tone of his poetry, is didactic. His poetry couriers a suddenly defined set of human values --- ordinary affection, simple piety, compassion to beauty and, primarily, the modification of thought and manners. He was one of truest poets and one of the most accomplished artists America has produced.
Secondly, Longfellow's poetry is remarkable for simplicity and love of the commonplace. He is a poet of feelings rather than of thought and reason. He expresses deep and profound feelings in simple and clear style, which is above ambiguity and ornamentation. He delved deep in the joys and sorrows of the human heart, its love and elemental faith in his poems which exhibit the superiority of the moral nature of man. Longfellow was not concerned with great problems or tragedies of humanity.
He severely confined himself to common experience which he expressed in humble, articulate and clear language. He produced the glamour of poetry out of the homely material of common life.
Therefore, the world honoured him as "our household poet."
Next, he was an original craftsman. He was a brilliant narrator whose command over the art of narration was flawless. Like Chaucer he knew how to tell a tale in an interesting and convincing way.
Longfellow was immensely popular during his life time. His last two collections of verse – ‘Ultima Thule’ and ‘In the Harbor’ were well received. He was so popular that his 75th birthday was celebrated in every school in the United States.
Longfellow was exceedingly admired in England. During the major part of the 19th century he shared with Tennyson the admiration of all English speaking people. His poems "become the common property of Englishmen everywhere, from the British isles to Antipodes."
He was so English poetically that Trollope observed that of the poets of the day Longfellow was "the last I should have to be an American."
Primarily, he was a romantic at heart. His poems mirror the picturesequeness of the old world. He enjoys the honour of developing man’s interest in his country's past. Longfellow's romanticism is disciplined by classicism. The moralising tone of the Christian ethics are reflected in his poems.
The tone of his poetry, is didactic. His poetry couriers a suddenly defined set of human values --- ordinary affection, simple piety, compassion to beauty and, primarily, the modification of thought and manners. He was one of truest poets and one of the most accomplished artists America has produced.
Secondly, Longfellow's poetry is remarkable for simplicity and love of the commonplace. He is a poet of feelings rather than of thought and reason. He expresses deep and profound feelings in simple and clear style, which is above ambiguity and ornamentation. He delved deep in the joys and sorrows of the human heart, its love and elemental faith in his poems which exhibit the superiority of the moral nature of man. Longfellow was not concerned with great problems or tragedies of humanity.
He severely confined himself to common experience which he expressed in humble, articulate and clear language. He produced the glamour of poetry out of the homely material of common life.
Therefore, the world honoured him as "our household poet."
Next, he was an original craftsman. He was a brilliant narrator whose command over the art of narration was flawless. Like Chaucer he knew how to tell a tale in an interesting and convincing way.
Longfellow was immensely popular during his life time. His last two collections of verse – ‘Ultima Thule’ and ‘In the Harbor’ were well received. He was so popular that his 75th birthday was celebrated in every school in the United States.
Longfellow was exceedingly admired in England. During the major part of the 19th century he shared with Tennyson the admiration of all English speaking people. His poems "become the common property of Englishmen everywhere, from the British isles to Antipodes."
He was so English poetically that Trollope observed that of the poets of the day Longfellow was "the last I should have to be an American."
September 20, 2022
Took me a long time to get through it all, but I kept finding other shorter, more absorbing books.
I enjoyed his poetry. Some of my favorites were:
A Psalm of Life
The Skeleton in Armor
The Wreck of the Hesperus
The Village Blacksmith
To the River Charles
The Spanish Student
A Gleam of Sunshine
Curfew
Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie
Haunted Houses
Oliver Basselin
The Ropewalk
The Children's Hour
A Day of Sunshine
The Bridge of Clouds
Christmas Bells
The Three Kings
The Chamber over the Gate
The Sifting of Peter
Mad River
Decoration Day
Christus: A Mystery
and 'the peasant leaves his plough afield'
I enjoyed his poetry. Some of my favorites were:
A Psalm of Life
The Skeleton in Armor
The Wreck of the Hesperus
The Village Blacksmith
To the River Charles
The Spanish Student
A Gleam of Sunshine
Curfew
Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie
Haunted Houses
Oliver Basselin
The Ropewalk
The Children's Hour
A Day of Sunshine
The Bridge of Clouds
Christmas Bells
The Three Kings
The Chamber over the Gate
The Sifting of Peter
Mad River
Decoration Day
Christus: A Mystery
and 'the peasant leaves his plough afield'
June 26, 2020
One of the most accessible 19th century poets.
“Bright as ever flows the sea,
Bright as ever shines the sun,
But alas! they seem to me
Not the sun that used to be,
Not the tides that used to run.”
“Bright as ever flows the sea,
Bright as ever shines the sun,
But alas! they seem to me
Not the sun that used to be,
Not the tides that used to run.”
January 24, 2019
3.5 stars.
June 13, 2020
I thoroughly enjoyed revisiting Evangeline and Hiawatha, and being introduced to other work of Longfellow's poetry that I had not previously read
December 23, 2022
leí The Village Blacksmith
May 2, 2024
My fave is to a child
August 16, 2025
“Thus I repay the royal debt I owe
And cover up the footprints in the snow”
And cover up the footprints in the snow”
March 27, 2025
Longfellow was that dude!!! Being accessible doesn’t mean you’re less than! He’s an incredible storyteller in verse, super old school obv, able to weave narratives with musical precision. While he might not have been as revolutionary in form as Whitman, there’s a clarity to his work, a crystal-clear simplicity that always sings “I’m that homeboy.” Oh, Longfellow. There’s also a progressive edge to his poetry, quite radical actually, one that feels decades ahead of its time.
“Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.”
“Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.”
July 31, 2018
Much is perfect, some is tedious
I started reading Longfellow because The Saga of King Olaf was Theodore Roosevelt's favorite poem which he read every year when he was young. So I started there and then I read the whole book and it took me a year. Some of it is brilliant and awesome. and some of it is really tedious and religious and I couldn't wait to get through it.
I started reading Longfellow because The Saga of King Olaf was Theodore Roosevelt's favorite poem which he read every year when he was young. So I started there and then I read the whole book and it took me a year. Some of it is brilliant and awesome. and some of it is really tedious and religious and I couldn't wait to get through it.
January 16, 2021
His words are powerful, and I sense timelessness in them. It's a huge collection, though, and I've found twice now that I lose my enjoyment of the poetry when I try to read straight through. I need to just read in snippets.
March 7, 2015
I found much of Longfellow dull, but The Ride of Paul Revere we know to be good, but inaccurate and the Wreck of the Hesperus is extremely sad.
reread-next-year
January 19, 2025Contains "The Arrow and the Song."
May 25, 2024
“The Meeting”
“A Psalm of Life”
“The Rainy Day”
“A Psalm of Life”
“The Rainy Day”
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews