Explore "Moods" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Oh that a Song would sing itself to me / Out of the heart of Nature, or the heart / Of man, the child of Nature, not of Art, / Fresh as the morning, salt as the salt sea, / With just enough of bitterness to be / A medicine to this sluggish mood, and start / The life-blood in my veins, and so impart / Healing and help in this dull lethargy! / Alas! not always doth the breath of song / Breathe on us. It is like the wind that bloweth / At its own will, not ours, nor tarries long; / We hear the sound thereof, but no man knoweth / From whence it comes, so sudden and swift and strong, / Nor whither in its wayward course it goeth.