My ornaments are fruits; my garments leaves,
Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed;
I do no boast the harvesting of sheaves,
O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I preside.
Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride,
The dreamy air is full, and overflows
With tender memories of the summer-tide,
And mingled voices of the doves and crows.

(C) Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
01/01/2000


Best Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

• Excelsior
• Aftermath
• To The River Rhone
• The Builders
• Il Ponte Vecchio Di Firenze
• The Ladder Of St. Augustine
• A Fragment
• The Wreck Of The Hesperus
• By The Seaside : Twilight
• In The Harbour: Auf Wiedersehen
• Hiawathas Fishing
• Changed
• Dirge Over A Nameless Grave
• The Bridge
• The Old Clock On The Stairs
• The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls
• Hiawathas Friends
• The Demoniac Of Gadara
• The Meeting
• Hiawathas Sailing
• Hiawathas Hunting