It Is Not Always May by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The sun is bright,–the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing.And from the stately elms I hear The bluebird prophesying Spring. So blue yon winding river flows, It seems an outlet from the sky,Where waiting till the west-wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. All things are new;–the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree’s nodding crest,And even the nest beneath the eaves;– There are no birds in last year’s nest! All things rejoice in youth and love, The fulness of their first delight!And learn from the soft heavens above The melting tenderness of night. Maiden, that read’st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For oh, it is not always May! Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, To some good angel leave the rest;For Time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year’s nest!
The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 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.