Classic and Contemporary Poetry
TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: FINALE, by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: These are the tales those merry guests Last Line: Look up upon them from below. | ||||||||
These are the tales those merry guests Told to each other, well or ill; Like summer birds that lift their crests Above the borders of their nests And twitter, and again are still. These are the tales, or new or old, In idle moments idly told; Flowers of the field with petals thin, Lilies that neither toil nor spin, And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse Hung in the parlor of the inn Beneath the sign of the Red Horse. And still, reluctant to retire, The friends sat talking by the fire And watched the smouldering embers burn To ashes, and flash up again Into a momentary glow, Lingering like them when forced to go, And going when they would remain; For on the morrow they must turn Their faces homeward, and the pain Of parting touched with its unrest A tender nerve in every breast. But sleep at last the victory won; They must be stirring with the sun, And drowsily good night they said, And went still gossiping to bed, And left the parlor wrapped in gloom. The only live thing in the room Was the old clock, that in its pace Kept time with the revolving spheres And constellations in their flight, And struck with its uplifted mace The dark, unconscious hours of night, To senseless and unlistening ears. Uprose the sun; and every guest, Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed For journeying home and city-ward; The old stage-coach was at the door, With horses harnessed, long before The sunshine reached the withered sward Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar Murmured: "Farewell forevermore." "Farewell!" the portly Landlord cried; "Farewell!" the parting guests replied, But little thought that nevermore Their feet would pass that threshold o'er; That nevermore together there Would they assemble, free from care, To hear the oaks' mysterious roar, And breathe the wholesome country air. Where are they now? What lands and skies Paint pictures in their friendly eyes? What hope deludes, what promise cheers, What pleasant voices fill their ears? Two are beyond the salt sea waves, And three already in their graves. Perchance the living still may look Into the pages of this book, And see the days of long ago Floating and fleeting to and fro, As in the well-remembered brook They saw the inverted landscape gleam, And their own faces like a dream Look up upon them from below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A PSALM OF LIFE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW BELISARIUS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CARILLON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CATAWBA WINE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CHANGED by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CHAUCER; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CHRISTMAS BELLS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CURFEW by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW DAYBREAK by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW DIVINA COMMEDIA (INTRODUCTORY POEMS): 1 by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |
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