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The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
This poem is in the public domain.
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Most experts would agree that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was the most popular American poet of the nineteenth century. A family man who suffered much tragedy in his personal life, Longfellow was the first of a group of writers known as the "Fireside Poets," called such for their popularity with families all over the country who gathered by the fire in the evenings to read the work of these poets aloud. Longfellow published poetry over a forty year period, and enjoyed public adulation in line with that of rock stars and celebrities today.
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rracquel265@gmail.com:
This poem came to me the specifically be still sad heart. I remember in high school my teacher had our class to recite this poem for a grade. I recall me and my friend turning it into a song-rhyme. Little did I know that this poem would be reflected in my life today 20 years later. This truly brings me hope that one day I will smile again and have joy.
Posted 07/20/2022 09:31 PM
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Wilda Morris:
Exactly the kind of day we are having here in northern Illinois, except for the bursts of color from the trees! I wonder if Longfellow wrote this after the tragic death of his wife.
Posted 10/14/2014 02:04 PM
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KevinArnold:
Between this and Emily Bronte's poem yesterday we have four 'dreary's and one 'drearier;' we are surely in our blue period. What mastery of repetition Longfellow displays.
Posted 10/14/2014 11:34 AM
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TheSilverOne:
This takes me back to the 60's, working in Milwaukee. A co-worker, southern belle named Pansy, used to recite this poem all the time. I can still see her reciting those last lines. RIP, Pansy.
Posted 10/14/2014 09:31 AM
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phebe.davidson@gmail.com:
I love finding out stuff I didn't know. Good for Longfellow: I've had that line thrown at me for seventy years by people who probably didn't know where it came from either!
Posted 10/14/2014 08:58 AM
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John:
It's interesting how public preferences in poetry change. What was popular in the 19th century is now out of fashion. If a contemporary poet uses rhyme, there is little chance of recognition. There are a few exception; they only prove the rule
Posted 10/14/2014 08:12 AM
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