Thursday, February 21, 2008

Rainy Day

Today as I was delivering my mail the weather started at well below freezing, but thank God it warmed to the point it could rain on me. Then the rain turned to sleet, ice pellets, and finally freezing rain. I was slip sliding along as the rain fell all around, and on the mail I was delivering. Turned me to thinking of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem that I've copied below. Amazing what a little poem can do to turn a nasty day into a chance to commiserate with a great poet!

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.


The Masked Badger said...

Doug, I feel like this most mornings - especially in winter! Thanks for the poem. I'm looking forward to being educated by your blog - still only focused on Herbert, Hopkins, Mary Oliver, Steve Turner - so I shall await broadening horizons! Although I do have a musical version of Hiawatha....

dougbaker said...

Hey Masked Badger,

We share the Hopkins, Herbert fascination. They are truly amazing boundary stretching wordsmiths!

You turned me on to Mary Oliver a couple of years ago and I love her! So, now I have to look up Steve Turner. . .

And isn't Hiawatha such a sweet unrasonable account of native American life?