Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes About Mothers

Quotes about: Mothers

• Even He that died for us upon the cross, in the last hour, in the unutterable agony of death, was mindful of His mother, as if to teach us that this holy love should be our last worldly thought - the last point of earth from which the soul should take its flight for heaven.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Mother, Agony, Heaven

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1835). “Outre-mer: a pilgrimage beyond the sea”, p.191

• Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Mom, Mother, Art

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Illustrated)”, p.965, Delphi Classics

• Mine is the Month of Roses; yes, and mine
  The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights
  And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine,
  The foliage of the valleys and the heights.
  Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights;
  The mower's scythe makes music to my ear;
  I am the mother of all dear delights;
  I am the fairest daughter of the year.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Daughter, Mother, Spring

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Illustrated)”, p.1047, Delphi Classics

• As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor. Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead Which, the more splendid, may not please him more; So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Mother, Children, Sleep

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1988). “Selected Poems”, p.322, Penguin

• Art is the child of Nature; yes, Her darling child, in whom we trace The features of the mother's face, Her aspect and her attitude, All her majestic loveliness Chastened and softened and subdued Into a more attractive grace, And with a human sense imbued. He is the greatest artist, then, Whether of pencil or of pen, Who follows Nature.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Mother, Art, Children

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Illustrated)”, p.965, Delphi Classics

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