Read the Lines of Verse From â€å“the Song of Hiawathaã¢â‚¬â by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Various portraits of Longfellow

10 Greatest Poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (built-in February 27, 1807 – died March 24, 1882) was an American poet of the Romantic menses. He served as a professor at Harvard University and was an adept linguist, traveling throughout Europe and immersing himself in European culture and verse, which he emulated in his poetry. Before telly, radio, and film, he rose to become not just the leading poet and literary figure of 19th-century America, just likewise an American icon and household name.

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10 Greatest Poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

by Satyananda Sarangi

Picking but 10 is a tricky equation when it concerns the works of a poet as prolific every bit Longfellow. From being a cornerstone of American poetry and culture to being the nearly widely read poet in his lifetime, he dared to establish this very fact that Romanticism wasn't confined to Europe (or British poets to be precise). With numerous translations from various languages, such equally Castilian, High german, and Italian, his popularity was perhaps something that any poet could only dream of.

It is an uphill task to compile his best ten, since many of his historic pieces like Paul Revere's Ride, The Vocal of Hiawatha, Evangeline – A Tale of Acadie, The Wreck of the Hesperus, The Building of the Transport and My Lost Youth are long. For simplicity and convenience, I have stuck to his English poems that run not more than 60 lines. (Read an excellent essay on The Wreck of the Hesperus here)

Here goes the listing:

x. "Haunted Houses" (1858)

All houses wherein men have lived and died
__Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
__With anxiety that make no audio upon the floors.

We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
__Forth the passages they come up and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
__A sense of something moving to and fro.

At that place are more guests at table, than the hosts
__Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with repose, inoffensive ghosts,
__As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
__The forms I meet, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
__All that has been is visible and clear.

Nosotros have no title-deeds to house or lands;
__Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
__And hold in mortmain however their former estates.

The spirit-globe around this world of sense
__Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
__A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Our piddling lives are kept in equipoise
__By reverse attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
__And the more noble instinct that aspires.

These perturbations, this perpetual jar
__Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star,
__An undiscovered planet in our sky.

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
__Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Beyond whose trembling planks our fancies oversupply
__Into the realm of mystery and nighttime,–

And then from the world of spirits there descends
__A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
__Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.

Written at a time when he was already renowned, Longfellow showcases his brilliance and versatility in what seems a ghostly poem at showtime. But then subtlety takes over and the reader is introduced to how psychic phenomena and worldly desires may become hand in mitt. The salient characteristic of this discussion is the gradual shift from after-world powers to how they govern the ambitions and aspirations of mortals. Quite foreign it appears, yet the mention of 'unseen planet' and ' undiscovered planet' further stress that uncanny forces may have had some role in the choices we make in this real world. A bright imagery towards the finish where 'the moonlight is perceived to be a bridge' turns out to exist the icing on the cake. The poet is quite dauntless in pulling this off. Keeping in mind his inclination to romantic and sentimental works, he is enlightened of what he is best at.

9. "The Rainy Twenty-four hours" (1842)

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine all the same clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the expressionless leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and nighttime, and dreary;
Information technology 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, deplorable heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun yet shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some pelting must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

How ofttimes has one run into a Longfellow verse form that speaks of hope and optimism after taking u.s. 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 onetime, ageing person pondering over his past and youth. Cartoon a parallel between life and a bleak twenty-four hour period works out well where the 'vine' symbolises 'thoughts' and 'dead leaves' are helpless as is the lost youth. A major portion of the verse form relies on metaphorical outcome, quite clearly an inherent skill of great Romantic bards. The closing quintain is a boost – everyone is put through crude patches to be able to win ; the universal anthem being that adversity (referred to equally the rain) is inevitable and is the mother of success, for the lessons of 'dark days' are what carry the vivid ones.

viii. "Nature" (1878)

As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,
Leads by the mitt her niggling child to bed,
One-half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
Past promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not delight him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings 1 by ane, and past the hand
Leads u.s.a. to balance so gently, that nosotros go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Existence too total of sleep to empathize
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

The universal truth of 'death' has been used as a touching subject time and again. However, monotony looms big merely what stand out here are the uniqueness and the well thought out lines by a rather growing old poet. In fact this piece is a metaphor in its entirety and deserves a place in all fourth dimension expiry poems alongside Donne's 'Death Exist Not Proud' and Shirley'south 'Decease – The Leveller'. In the format of the Italian sonnet (or Petrarchan sonnet) with a simple rhyme, the act of a mother taking her kid to bed has been compared to how nature takes each of u.s. to death. In both the deportment, one seems reluctant – considering how a child wishes to play fifty-fifty at belatedly night and how life wishes to continue fifty-fifty when one is as well old. The 'playthings' are the bonds nosotros share, the 'rest' is death that sneaks in and our 'so gentle' departure, an unsolved mystery in itself.

7. "The Cross of Snow" (1879)

In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle confront—the face of one long expressionless—
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The dark-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died; and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of burn was led
To its quiet; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the afar Westward
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snowfall upon its side.
Such is the cross I clothing upon my breast
These 18 years, through all the irresolute scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.

In the words of Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, 'Poetry comes from the highest happiness or the deepest sorrow'; 'The Cross of Snow' being an expression of the latter. Elementary yet hitting, straight forward and fatigued from a real life of hardships and mishaps, this sonnet goes down as ane of his memorable tributes to Frances Appleton, his deceased wife and the portrayal of his sadness owing to her absenteeism. Much pivotal to the emotional aspects are 'sleepless', 'halo of pale light' and 'gentle face'. The reason of her expiry referred to as ' martyrdom of fire' and the comparing betwixt the natural landscape's cross and the cantankerous of Christ donned by the poet himself lend a powerful emotional quotient to the poem – a feature of nearly of his serious poetry in subsequently life. Delving further into the reference made to 'the cross', 'cantankerous' depicts the poet's longing, seen every bit a lifelong brunt that he has to carry.

6. "The Ladder of St. Augustine" (1858)

Saint Augustine! well hast 1000 said,
__That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will only tread
__Beneath our feet each deed of shame!
All common things, each twenty-four hour period'due south events,
__That with the hour begin and end,
Our pleasures and our discontents,
__Are rounds by which we may ascend.
The low desire, the base design,
__That makes some other's virtues less;
The revel of the ruddy vino,
__And all occasions of backlog;
The longing for ignoble things;
__The strife for triumph more than truth;
The hardening of the heart, that brings
__Irreverence for the dreams of youth;
All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds,
__That have their root in thoughts of sick;
Whatever hinders or impedes
__The action of the nobler will;—
All these must first be trampled down
__Below our feet, if we would gain
In the bright fields of fair renown
__The right of eminent domain.
We have not wings, nosotros cannot soar;
__But we have anxiety to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more than,
__The cloudy summits of our time.
The mighty pyramids of rock
__That wedge-like cleave the desert arrogance,
When nearer seen, and amend known,
__Are but gigantic flights of stairs.
The distant mountains, that uprear
__Their solid bastions to the skies,
Are crossed by pathways, that appear
__Every bit we to higher levels ascension.
The heights past great men reached and kept
__Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
__Were toiling upward in the night.
Standing on what too long we bore
__With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern—unseen earlier—
__A path to higher destinies.
Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
__As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, ascent on its wrecks, at last
__To something nobler we reach.

Finally, nosotros arrive at one such poem that gives the impression of the typical Longfellow verse – inspiring with lofty ethics that elevator the spirit no thing 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. Augustine has preached in Christianity, the poet lays out the negative qualities of man, ultimately resulting in hindrances to his edification past the usage of 'longing for ignoble things', 'strife for triumph more than than truth 'and 'all occasions of backlog'. The magnificent imagery is taken good care of by 'cloudy summits of our time', 'gigantic flights of stairs' and 'solid bastions to the skies' – the predictable style in which the poet makes very fine use of poetic devices. The clear message delivered is that nosotros need to have patience to pursue our goals; for Rome was not built in a day.

"The heights past not bad men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
Just they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the dark."

Moreover, this quatrain continues to be one of the almost popular even today.

5. "Excelsior" (1842)

The shades of night were falling fast,
Every bit through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and water ice,
A banner with the foreign device,
__Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye below,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And similar a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
__Excelsior!

In happy homes he saw the calorie-free
Of household fires gleam warm and vivid;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
__Excelsior!

"Try not the Pass!" the sometime man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!
And loud that blaring vocalisation replied,
__Excelsior!

"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But withal he answered, with a sigh,
__Excelsior!

"Beware the pino-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant'south terminal Good-night,
A voice replied, far upwardly the height,
__Excelsior!

At intermission of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oftentimes-repeated prayer,
A vocalism cried through the startled air,
__Excelsior!

A traveller, past the true-blue hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Nevertheless grasping in his paw of water ice
That imprint with the strange device,
__Excelsior!

In that location in the twilight cold and grey,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A vocalisation fell, like a meteor,
__Excelsior!

From the 'Ballads and Other Poems', this brusk poem is obvious at the surface, though information technology caters to a very different thought. Information technology possesses a divergence from typical 'aim higher' themes that accept been the poet'due south speciality every bit seen in the previous poem. 'Excelsior' – a Latin word meaning 'still higher' is somewhat the engine that drives the plot; its repetition subsequently every stanza points towards a 'warning' bell to the protagonist (a immature homo) likewise every bit to every reader. The description captures the mammoth task ahead of the young mountaineer by phrases such every bit 'snow and water ice', 'tempest overhead', 'the roaring torrent' and 'the awful avalanche'. Although he is shown every bit brave and steadfast in his vision, the successive warnings issued to him by an onetime man, a maiden and and so the peasant convince us that the errand is way too much. Often in life, nosotros have a hard stance on matters and the realisation comes when all's done and dusted. Conclusion and perseverance are essential, but a wise person knows where to draw the line; the catastrophe quatrain is but like the consolation nosotros may have to ourselves. Now, what is more than appealing about 'Excelsior' is its tone, a complete dissimilarity to the tone in 'The Ladder of St. Augustine'. However, as one may notice, the ill of 'the strife for triumph more than truth' from the latter is a similarity between the two poems. Every bit a matter of fact, 'Excelsior' continues to be a widely anthologised slice.

four. "The Reapers and the Flowers" (1839)

There is a Reaper, whose name is Decease,
__And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the disguised grain at a breath,
__And the flowers that abound between.

"Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he;
__"Have naught only the disguised grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
__I volition requite them all back again."

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
__He kissed their drooping leaves;
Information technology was for the Lord of Paradise
__He bound them in his sheaves.

"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,"
__The Reaper said, and smiled;
"Dear tokens of the globe are they,
__Where He was once a kid.

"They shall all bloom in fields of light,
__Transplanted past my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
__These sacred blossoms wear."

And the female parent gave, in tears and pain,
__The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should notice them all again
__In the fields of light to a higher place.

Oh, non in cruelty, not in wrath,
__The Reaper came that mean solar day;
'T was an angel visited the dark-green earth,
__And took the flowers abroad.

Throughout the narration, in that location hasn't been whatsoever direct reference to the characters and events. A young Longfellow is more expert at personification – this is what takes united states by surprise and despite very loose meter, 'The Reapers and the Flowers' manages to break into the acme five. When 'Death' is the reaper who takes along with him 'the old' otherwise shown as 'bearded grains' and sometimes even 'flowers' (the youth), one may predict how the poem would end. The mother, who represents the world symbolically, is assured that her children (flowers) would find a better dwelling house in 'fields of calorie-free higher up' (heaven) and in spite of her love, she gives them away. Even so, the poet decides to render it a twist i.e. the reaper who took the flowers that day must've been some angel sent past God, every bit revealed in the terminal stanza. The greatest quality of this poem lies in its deeper layers of allegory. This curt ballad is believed to point out nonetheless another issue from the poet'due south life – the miscarriage suffered by his first married woman, Mary Potter around that fourth dimension. Having a basic meaning to itself, the figurative language elevates this piece to a higher level, for it paraphrases 'Whom the Gods love, die young'.

3. "The Children's Hour" (1863)

Between the nighttime and the daylight,
__When the dark is beginning to lower,
Comes a intermission in the day's occupations,
__That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the bedroom higher up me
__The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
__And voices soft and sweetness.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
__Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
__And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and so a silence:
__Nevertheless I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
__To accept me past surprise.

A sudden blitz from the stairway,
__A sudden raid from the hall!
By 3 doors left unguarded
__They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
__O'er the arms and dorsum of my chair;
If I endeavour to escape, they surround me;
__They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
__Their arms about me entwine,
Till I retrieve of the Bishop of Bingen
__In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you retrieve, O blue-eyed banditti,
__Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
__Is not a match for you all!

I take you fast in my fortress,
__And will not let you lot depart,
But put yous down into the dungeon
__In the round-tower of my heart.

And at that place will I keep you forever,
__Yes, forever and a solar day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
__And moulder in grit away!

One oft wonders how Longfellow comes up with such a merry, uncomplicated poem which he non only manages to write well, simply too immortalises his three daughters past including them in it. 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. In the very first stanza, he refers to a brief menstruum in the evening as 'the children's hr' when he, otherwise occupied in his report, has some fourth dimension to spare for his children. Seen as bit grave for most of the time, Longfellow lets the sweetness and lovely male parent figure of himself take centerstage – unusual yet genuine in expressing his dear. When Alice, Allegra and Edith hatch a plot to surprise him, he is aware of their footsteps but pretends otherwise. The mention of 'Bishop of Bingen in his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine' emphasises the poet's powerless status for a short while; which he recovers from thereafter with the concluding and last but one quatrains. Struck by fatal tragedies during his lifetime, the poem in a function shows the poet's insecurities – some of them hidden in lines:

But put y'all downwards into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my center.

And there will I keep you forever,
Aye, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!

Yet, 'The Children's Hr' is a timeless piece of work depicting paternal gesture.

2. "The Solar day is Done" (1845)

The day is done, and the darkness
__Falls from the wings of Dark,
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 simply
__As the mist resembles the pelting.
Come up, read to me some poem,
__Some uncomplicated and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
__And banish the thoughts of twenty-four hour period.
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 advise
Life's endless toil and endeavour;
__And to-night I long for remainder.
Read from some humbler poet,
__Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summertime,
__Or tears from the eyelids starting time;
Who, through long days of labor,
__And nights devoid of ease,
Nevertheless heard in his soul the music
__Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet
__The restless pulse of intendance,
And come similar the benediction
__That follows subsequently prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
__The poem of thy selection,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
__The beauty of thy vocalization.
And the night shall exist filled with music
__And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
__And as silently steal abroad.

'The Day is Done' may have a predictable title deemed sufficient to judge its content, though it isn't then. Unlike many of his significant works based on folklore, legends and stories, this one is tailor-made for a item occasion—to be read at the end of a tiring solar day along with poetry, but not from any famous poet's collection. When most of Longfellow'southward poems speak of generalised ideas applicative to mutual readers, this remains the odd one out. The arrival of dusk and darkness is obvious and unnoticed similar the falling down of an eagle's plume. The introductory lines set a dampening mood—perfectly synonymous to the mood later a long day's piece of work; further begetting a strange sadness within the narrator—sadness sans concrete reasons. The only way out from this depressing setting may come up from listening to poetry. But soothing poems would fare better than popular ones, because they ought to be spontaneous like tears and rainfall in summertime; this being evident from 'some elementary and heartfelt lay', 'from some humbler poet' and 'songs gushed from his heart'. Use of obviously similes like 'cares being tents like those of the Arabs' and correlation between rain, mist, sadness and sorrow, renders a mighty rhythm and an unbelievable imagery. A tremendous period, that is seldom interrupted, elevates this piece of work to the 2d spot.

ane. "A Psalm of Life" (1839)

What the Heart of the Boyfriend Said to the Psalmist

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
__Life is merely an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
__And things are non what they seem.

Life is existent! Life is earnest!
__And the grave is not its goal;
Grit thou art, to dust returnest,
__Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and non sorrow,
__Is our destined end or manner;
Only to act, that each to-morrow
__Find united states farther than to-mean solar day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
__And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
__Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world'south broad field of battle,
__In the bivouac of Life,
Exist not like dumb, driven cattle!
__Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Futurity, howe'er pleasant!
__Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Human activity,—deed in the living Present!
__Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of corking men all remind us
__We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave backside us
__Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps some other,
__Sailing o'er life'south solemn chief,
A forlorn and shipwrecked blood brother,
__Seeing, shall take eye once again.

Let united states of america, then, exist up and doing,
__With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
__Larn to labor and to wait.

Anyone with a little interest in English poetry, must take had this poem etched into memory; hence no guesses about Longfellow'south best poem. Such is its evocative eloquence, such is its superior effect on every person regardless of course, faith and nationality that it transcends the boundaries of a mere vocal, 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 afterwards he had come beyond a board in a German graveyard. Certainly his greatest, 'Psalm of Life' seems to accept varied ideas where each quatrain is a guideline in itself.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!

These first two lines provide the impetus to how the remainder of the poem is to go on. And indeed, he is 100 percentage true in carrying that instead of blaming life, one must work towards improving it past making judicious utilisation of our curt lives.

Taking into business relationship some other stanza:

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Allow the dead Past bury its dead!
Human action,—act in the living Present!
Heart inside, and God o'erhead!

I can faintly remember people effectually me quoting the above lines to lend support to one another while in distress. The central theme never deviates from the 'don't give upward' catch phrase. Much credit goes to 'A Psalm of Life' in enabling Longfellow to leave his 'footprints on the sands of time' even after almost two centuries have faded from when he wrote it.

I can bet that most of the poems that have made information technology to the list, would go far onto any Longfellow follower'due south list of top ten (where the lodge tin vary a thousand times for a m lists). Although the literary stardom of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow has dwindled e'er since the advent of 20th century, his legacy is as yard as his rising to fame.

An alumnus of IGIT Sarang, Satyananda Sarangi is a young poet who enjoys reading Longfellow, Shelley, Coleridge, Yeats and many others. His works accept featured in Glass: Facets of Poesy, WestWard Quarterly, The GreenSilk Journal and other national magazines and books. He also loves electrical machines and renewable energy sources. Currently, he resides in Odisha, India.

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