HWL : MLP
Longfellow’s 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.
Friday. Rainy. Drear. Predawn email about Mr. Eddie, the saddest into which one can avoidably devolve one’s own life. Two late morning visits to friends. One in hospital, weak and downhearted; rehab next, at least that's the plan and hope. One almost totally immobile in a chair, speaking haltingly of a coming end, soon, can’t be long, “it’s the way it is” and not a beautiful day for the first time in my hearing, "but at least there's no pain, or very little" -- sets at naught life’s other problems. Be still, sad heart.
Why Longfellow wrote the poem, who knows. Sentimental but fit the Friday and the lives of some who are very dear to me. Be still, sad heart.
From my upstairs front porch, flat Bay, rain has stopped, slightest breeze. My Laughing Place is still there:
TW+ in +Time
