A POETRY COMMENSURATE WITH MOUNTAINS AND RIVERS – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow / Making a literature unshorn, like a herd of buffaloes over the prairies.

When literature shall be given to ideas of the people.

Thanks to its coastline, campsites and range of outdoor activities, Maine it’s a summer destination for vacationing Americans. Among the best and small cities in the US, inside your author’s travel you can find Portland (Maine). As well as food and drink that’s big on local flavours, this city has a strong community spirit running through its art and music scene (among its notable people, you can find also poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow). His family home http://www.mainehistory.org/house_overview.shtml sat on farmland, and had views all the way to the ocean. Today, it’s neoclassical brick facade waiting for you, among the modern commercial buildings of Congress Street.

Born in Portland (Maine), on a February day, in 1807, he became a scholar versed in European languages. He was a famed 19th century novelist and poet, known for works like “Voices of the Night,” and “The Song of Hiawatha.” In 1842 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW wrote to a his friend he have read a Dickens’ book, with a chapter on Slavery. On his travel return to America, he wrote seven poems, including “The Slave Singing at Midnight,” and “The Witnesses.” During the American Civil War, the editors of the Evening Post reflected on Longfellow’s “Poems on Slavery“, written two decades earlier. He would produced “Voices of the Night” (a collection of poems, including Hymn to the Night), which gained him immediate popularity.

THE 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.

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Meeting Bench