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.



About this poem
"Holidays" was published in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's book "Keramos, and Other Poems" (Houghton, Osgood & Co., 1878).

About Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, on Feb. 27, 1807. Among his numerous books are "The Song of Hiawatha" (Ticknor & Fields, 1856) and "Voices of the Night" (J. Owen, 1839). He died on March 24, 1882, at the age of 75.

***
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.


This poem is in the public domain. Distributed by King Features Syndicate