Your hardships and your sorrows And He will help you to reign. So don't give up and don't give in Don't quit before it's time God's grace will give you power To make it to the finish line In His way and time! Sign in with Facebook Sign in with Twitter. Follow user. Unfollow user. Unfollow collections. Unfollow all. Are you sure you want to unfollow the collection " " by? Are you sure you want to unfollow all collections for this entry by? Are you sure you want to unfollow all hearts and collections from?
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Home Discover Articles Channels. New Post Post Image. Add From URL. Get the Heart Button. Add button to my site. Is this your first heart? Sign in with Facebook or Twitter to start your gallery. Skip this step! Have a We Heart It account? Log in now. Scroll to Top Page. Cancel Opt out. Follow user Unfollow user Unfollow collections Cancel. You have now unfollowed. 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! How often has one come across a Longfellow poem that speaks of hope and optimism after taking us through gloomy lanes and cloudy circumstances? Relatively young at the time of this publication, the poet prefers the lines to be conveyed from the viewpoint of an old, ageing person pondering over his past and youth.
A major portion of the poem relies on metaphorical effect, quite clearly an inherent skill of great Romantic bards.
However, monotony looms large but what stand out here are the uniqueness and the well thought out lines by a rather growing old poet. In the format of the Italian sonnet or Petrarchan sonnet with a simple rhyme, the act of a mother taking her child to bed has been compared to how nature takes each of us to death. In both the actions, one seems reluctant — considering how a child wishes to play even at late night and how life wishes to continue even when one is too old.
In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face—the face of one long dead— Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. Here in this room she died; and soul more white Never through martyrdom of fire was led To its repose; nor can in books be read The legend of a life more benedight. There is a mountain in the distant West That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines Displays a cross of snow upon its side. Such is the cross I wear upon my breast These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes And seasons, changeless since the day she died.
In the words of Dr. Simple yet striking, straight forward and drawn from a real life of hardships and mishaps, this sonnet goes down as one of his memorable tributes to Frances Appleton, his deceased wife and the portrayal of his sadness owing to her absence. Saint Augustine! Finally, we arrive at one such poem that gives the impression of the typical Longfellow verse — inspiring with lofty ideals that lift the spirit no matter what. The whole of this, if summarised, is a clarion call for rising to the occasion, employing symbols that are not at all imaginative but truths encountered through life.
Beginning from what St. The clear message delivered is that we need to have patience to pursue our goals; for Rome was not built in a day. Beware the awful avalanche! Although he is shown as brave and steadfast in his vision, the successive warnings issued to him by an old man, a maiden and then the peasant convince us that the errand is way too much. Determination and perseverance are essential, but a wise person knows where to draw the line; the ending quatrain is just like the consolation we may have to ourselves. However, the poet decides to render it a twist i.
The greatest quality of this poem lies in its deeper layers of allegory. One often wonders how Longfellow comes up with such a merry, simple poem which he not only manages to write well, but also immortalises his three daughters by including them in it.
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This piece brings forth a welcome relief to readers and to the poet himself, as more serious poetry was what he was used to penning then. Seen as bit grave for most of the time, Longfellow lets the sweet and lovely father figure of himself take centerstage — unusual yet genuine in expressing his love. When Alice, Allegra and Edith hatch a plot to surprise him, he is aware of their footsteps but pretends otherwise.
But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away!
The only way out from this depressing setting may come from listening to poetry. A tremendous flow, that is seldom interrupted, elevates this work to the second spot. Life is real! Life is earnest! Act,—act in the living Present! Such is its evocative eloquence, such is its superior effect on every person regardless of class, religion and nationality that it transcends the boundaries of a mere song, and in the right sense, transforms into a psalm — a path to be followed for glorified and righteous life.
Recited at Senate meetings, public gatherings and even at churches, this poem is sometimes speculated to have inspired Longfellow after he had come across a board in a German graveyard. These first two lines provide the impetus to how the rest of the poem is to proceed. And indeed, he is percent true in conveying that instead of blaming life, one must work towards improving it by making judicious utilisation of our short lives.
Let the dead Past bury its dead! I can faintly remember people around me quoting the above lines to lend support to one another while in distress. Although the literary stardom of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow has dwindled ever since the advent of 20th century, his legacy is as grand as his rise to fame. He also loves electrical machines and renewable energy sources.
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Currently, he resides in Odisha, India. Longfellow is one of the most influential poets. You not only picked one of the best but you picked the best of one of the best. This top 10 is not to be topped. Unlike many of my contemporary young poets, I have always been drawn to poetry of the 19th century — the age of Romanticism fascinates and lifts my spirit.
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Having said this, I must confess that Longfellow has been one of the primary influences on me since the day I began penning poetry. And in return, it is a privilege that I wrote this essay — my first ever about his works. Warm greetings Mr Satyananda. I completely agree with you. It was extremely soul stiring. Thank you Satyananda.
10 Greatest Poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. That is so kind of you to mention this poem — one of the best indeed.
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The question is : can we do justice to a heavyweight like H. Longfellow by coming up with an all time top ten poems? However, I have to agree that the above poem is a beautiful piece. All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these; Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, entire, and clean. Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb. Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of sky.