Holidays
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;—
The happy days unclouded to their close;
The sudden joys that out of darkness start
As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
White as the gleam of a receding sail,
White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,
White as the whitest lily on a stream,
These tender memories are;— a Fairy Tale
Of some enchanted land we know not where,
But lovely as a landscape in a dream.
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;—
The happy days unclouded to their close;
The sudden joys that out of darkness start
As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
White as the gleam of a receding sail,
White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,
White as the whitest lily on a stream,
These tender memories are;— a Fairy Tale
Of some enchanted land we know not where,
But lovely as a landscape in a dream.
This is a beautiful poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He talks about the special memories we have that are so precious to us and have become the "holiest of holidays". We keep these memories "in silence and apart." They live in our hearts as "secret anniversaries". This is so true for me. My life and those of my 2 daughters have not gone as we had envisaged many years ago, but I have many special memories tucked away.
Wadsworth describes these "secret anniversaries" as white but ephemeral- bright flashes of light, but short-lived. They "recede", they "fade" or they pass by quickly as if floating "on a stream".
They remain pure, "the happy days unclouded to their close" but all these "tender memories" are like a "Fairy Tale". We can't grab onto them again. We can't make them real or concrete. But they remain "lovely as a landscape in a dream," tucked away in the "darkness" but ready to "dart" into our consciousness "like swallows".
It is important to keep making special memories as long as we live.
Wadsworth describes these "secret anniversaries" as white but ephemeral- bright flashes of light, but short-lived. They "recede", they "fade" or they pass by quickly as if floating "on a stream".
"White as a gleam of a receding sail,
White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,
White as the whitest lily on a stream."
They remain pure, "the happy days unclouded to their close" but all these "tender memories" are like a "Fairy Tale". We can't grab onto them again. We can't make them real or concrete. But they remain "lovely as a landscape in a dream," tucked away in the "darkness" but ready to "dart" into our consciousness "like swallows".
It is important to keep making special memories as long as we live.
