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WELCOME TO THE PUB-VERSE
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Holidays Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the full river of feeling overflows;— The happy days unclouded to their close; The sudden joys that out of darkness start As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart Like swallows singing down each wind that blows! White as the gleam of a receding sail, White as a cloud that floats and fades in air, White as the whitest lily on a stream, These tender memories are;— a Fairy Tale Of some enchanted land we know not where, But lovely as a landscape in a dream.
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