The Children’s Hour


Who is Henry W. Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was a renowned American poet, scholar, and educator whose literary contributions continue to be revered and celebrated to this day. Born in 1807 in Portland, Maine, Longfellow became a prominent figure in the literary world during the mid-19th century, often referred to as the “golden age of American poetry”.

Despite facing personal tragedies and setbacks throughout his life, Longfellow’s passion for literature and commitment to his craft propelled him to become one of the most beloved and influential poets of his time. His works, ranging from lyrical ballads to epics, captivated audiences with their romanticism, patriotism, and transcendentalism themes.

Longfellow’s impact on American literature and culture is undeniable, earning him a place in the pantheon of great American writers. In this article, we will delve into the life, works, and legacy of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, shedding light on the man behind the poems that have stood the test of time.

Poem – The Children’s Hour


Between the dark and the daylight,
      When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,
      That is known as the Children’s Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
      The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
      And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
      Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
      And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
      Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
      To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
      A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
      They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
      O’er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
      They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
      Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
      In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
      Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
      Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
      And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
      In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
      Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
      And moulder in dust away!




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