Thanks a lot, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

...for writing the following poem in 1841:

The Rainy Day

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.

Longfellow was born in 1807 and died in 1882, and in-between he wrote many poems that generations of American schoolchildren used to have to read and memorize portions of, including "The Village Blacksmith", "The Song Of Hiawatha", "Paul Revere's Ride", "Evangeline: A Tale Of Acadie".and the like. As I said, thanks a lot, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

It just so happens that today IS cold, and dark, and dreary, and if you cannot tell that this post is dripping with sarcasm. it is.

I liked Longfellow when I was younger ("Under a spreading chestnut tree the village smithy stands; the smith, a mighty man is he with large and sinewy hands...", "Listen, my children, and you shall hear of the midnight ridof Paul Revere; on the eighteenth of April in seventy-five, hardly a man is now alive who remembers that famous day and year...", "This is the forest primeval, the murmuring pines and the hemlocks...", "By the shores of Gitchee Gumee, by the Shining Big-Sea-Water, stood the wigwam of Nokomis, daughter of the moon Nokomis...", and so on, and so on). Nowadays I just find him irritating. Be thankful if you never had to commit his lines to memory because they would still be rolling around in the nether regions of your neo-cortex or your hippocampus or wherever it is that such things roll around.

Or maybe it's just that today is cold, and dark, and dreary; it rains, and the wind is never weary..."

Tomorrow is St. Lucy's Day, however, and I'm sure we'll all feel better after we walk around wearing long, flowing white dresses and lighted candles on top of our heads and singing "Santa Lucia." I mean, that's what I do every December 13th.

Don't you?

On the eighteenth of April in seventy-five,

...hardly a man is now alive,
who remembers that famous day and year.

Truer words were never spoken, because the year under consideration is not 1975 or even 1875.

The year under consideration is 1775. The man who could remember that famous day and year would now be equally famous for being the oldest person alive today.

I'm just saying.

Do you know who wrote the poem?

Do you know the title of the poem?

Do you know in which U.S. state the action described in the title occurred? (This is sort of a trick question.)

No fair looking things up.

Another very interesting read

...at least to me, is the following article I found yesterday:

English Is Not Normal

Please note, before you get your knickers in a twist, that the article is about English (the language), not The English (the people), in which case the verb would have had to be Are and not Is.

I should get extra credit for using the conditional past imperfect, or whatever it's called, in the previous sentence.

I hope I am not boring you with these articles. I just am extremely geeky and nerdy when it comes to words and language.

Those of you who want to say that the nerdiness and geekiness is not confined to just words and language, please stifle yourselves at this time.

P.S. - Two hundred and forty-five years ago today, Paul Revere made a famous ride that was made even more famous than it might have been otherwise by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow with such words as "Listen, my children, and you shall hear / Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere; / On the eighteenth of April in Seventy-five, / Hardly a man is now alive / Who remembers that famous day and year." and also "One if by land and two if by sea, / And I on the opposite shore will be, / Ready to ride and spread the alarm / To every Middlesex village and farm"....

I thought you would want to know.

'Round and 'round she goes, and where she stops nobody knows

(sculpture, head of Janus in Vatican museum, CC BY-SA 3.0)

Janus am I; oldest of potentates;
Forward I look, and backward, and below
I count, as god of avenues and gates,
The years that through my portals come and go.

I block the roads, and drift the fields with snow;
I chase the wild fowl from the frozen fen;
My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow,
My fires light up the hearths and hearts of men.
--Henry W. Longfellow


Old things need not be therefore true,
O brother men, nor yet the new;
Ah! still awhile the old thought retain,
And yet consider it again

The souls of now two thousand years
Have laid up here their toils and tears,
And all the earnings of their pain,--
Ah, yet consider it again!

We! What do we see? each a space
Of some few yards before his face;
Does that the whole wide plan explain?
Ah, yet consider it again!

Alas! the great world goes its way,
And takes its truth from each new day;
They do not quit, nor can retain,
Far less consider it again.
--Arthur Hugh Clough

Cogitations

l. René Descartes, 1637:

I think, therefore I am.


2. Joyce Kilmer, 1913:

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.


3. The Little Engine That Could, 1930:

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I--think--I--can, I--think--I--can, I---think---I---can, I----think----I----can, I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could.


4. Jemima Luke, 1841:

I think, when I read that sweet story of old,
When Jesus was here among men,
How He called little children as lambs to His fold,
I should like to have been with them then.

I wish that His hands had been placed on my head,
That His arms had been thrown around me,
And that I might have seen His kind look when He said,
“Let the little ones come unto Me.”

Yet still to His foot stool in prayer I may go;
And ask for a share in His love;
And if I thus earnestly seek Him below,
I shall see Him and hear Him above.

But thousands and thousands who wander and fall,
Never heard of that heavenly home;
I wish they could know there is room for them all,
And that Jesus has bid them to come.

In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare
For all who are washed and forgiven;
And many dear children shall be with Him there,
For “of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

I long for the joy of that glorious time,
The sweetest and brightest and best,
When the dear little children of every clime
Shall crowd to His arms and be blest.


5. Rhymeswithplague, 2013:

I think if I ever decide to stop blogging I would not announce it in advance like Katherine de Chevalle did. I would probably show you a poem, perhaps this one:

The Day is Done
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882)

The day is done, and the darkness
....Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
....From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
....Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
....That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
....That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
....As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
....Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
....And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
....Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
....Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
....Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavor;
....And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
....Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
....Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
....And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
....Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
....The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
....That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
....The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
....The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
....And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
....And as silently steal away.

...and then I would simply stop posting. Silently steal away, as it were. I do wonder sometimes, though, how long it would take anyone to notice.

Listen, my children, and you shall hear...

...Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere
On the eighteenth of April in Seventy-Five,
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year...

One if by land, and two if by sea,
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm...

You can read the entire poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow here.


Seventy-Five, of course, refers to neither 1975 nor 1875, but 1775. This statue of Paul Revere stands in Boston, Massachusetts. If you look closely, you can see in the background the spire of the Old North Church, which played a prominent role in the famous midnight ride of April 18-19, 1775.

Spring cleaning

1. An anapest is the reverse of a dactyl.

Anapest beat: da-da-DUM da-da-DUM da-da-DUM da-da-DUM
Example: The AsSYRian came DOWN like the WOLF on the FOLD... (Lord Byron, 1813)
Example: ’twas the NIGHT before CHRISTmas and ALL through the HOUSE... (Clement Clarke Moore, 1829)

Dactyl beat: DUM-da-da DUM-da-da DUM-da-da DUM-da-da
Example: THIS is the FORest primEVal, the MURmuring PINES and the HEMlocks... (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1847)

2. An iamb is the reverse of a trochee.

Iamb beat: da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM
Example: i WANdered LONEly AS a CLOUD... (William Wordsworth, 1804)
Example: come LIVE with ME and BE my LOVE (Christopher Marlowe, circa 1585)

Trochee beat: DUM-da DUM-da DUM-da DUM-da
Example: ONCE upON a MIDnight DREAry, WHILE i PONdered, WEAK and WEAry Over MANy a QUAINT and CURious VOLume OF forGOTten LORE... (Edgar Allan Poe, 1845)

3. Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny. (Étienne Serres, 1824)

4. In life, as in the dictionary, perspicacity precedes perspicuity. (rhymeswithplague, 1983)

5. The square of the hypotenuse of a right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides. (Pythagoras, sixth century B.C.)



6. I got you, babe. (Salvatore Bono and Cherilyn Sarkisian, 1965)


...and the beat goes on.