Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Memory
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“Nothing now is left But a majestic memory.”
“The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.”
“This memory brightens o'er the past, As when the sun concealed Behind some cloud that near us hangs, Shines on a distant field.”
“There comes to me out of the Past A voice, whose tones are sweet and wild, Singing a song almost divine, And with a tear in every line.”
“The heart hath its own memory, like the mind, And in it are enshrined The precious keepsakes, into which is wrought The giver's loving thought.”