The Bridge

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

    • I stood on the bridge at midnight,
    • As the clocks were striking the hour,
    • And the moon rose o’er the city,
    • Behind the dark church-tower.
    • I saw her bright reflection
    • In the waters under me,
    • Like a golden goblet falling
    • And sinking into the sea.
    • And far in the hazy distance
    • Of that lovely night in June,
    • The blaze of the flaming furnace
    • Gleamed redder than the moon.
    • Among the long, black rafters
    • The wavering shadows lay,
    • And the current that came from the ocean
    • Seemed to lift and bear them away;
    • As, sweeping and eddying through them,
    • Rose the belated tide,
    • And, streaming into the moonlight,
    • The seaweed floated wide.
    • And like those waters rushing
    • Among the wooden piers,
    • A flood of thoughts came o’er me
    • That filled my eyes with tears.
    • How often, O, how often,
    • In the days that had gone by,
    • I had stood on that bridge at midnight
    • And gazed on that wave and sky!
    • How often, O, how often,
    • I had wished that the ebbing tide
    • Would bear me away on its bosom
    • O’er the ocean wild and wide!
    • For my heart was hot and restless,
    • And my life was full of care,
    • And the burden laid upon me
    • Seemed greater than I could bear.
    • But now it has fallen from me,
    • It is buried in the sea;
    • And only the sorrow of others
    • Throws its shadow over me.
    • Yet whenever I cross the river
    • On its bridge with wooden piers,
    • Like the odor of brine from the ocean
    • Comes the thought of other years.
    • And I think how many thousands
    • Of care-encumbered men,
    • Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
    • Have crossed the bridge since then.
    • I see the long procession
    • Still passing to and fro,
    • The young heart hot and restless,
    • And the old subdued and slow!
    • And forever and forever,
    • As long as the river flows,
    • As long as the heart has passions,
    • As long as life has woes;
    • The moon and its broken reflection
    • And its shadows shall appear,
    • As the symbol of love in heaven,
    • And its wavering image here.