Nature: A Sonnet by Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s sonnet ‘Nature’ stands as a superb illustration of the tenderness and gentleness of nature in guiding human souls from this world to whatever comes next. The two metaphors in the first octave, ‘a fond mother’ and ‘her little child’, are harnessed in the seemingly expected arrival of the bed time of the child, which compares itself to death in the last six lines. This split of ideals between the first octave and the last six lines that form two tercets, create the form of a Petrarchan sonnet. I believe that this form is very effective in portraying the abrupt shift from child’s play to inevitable death, as well as differentiate itself from the sonnet form most are used to – the Shakespearean sonnet and its ideals of love.  

Longfellow’s comparison between a child’s bedtime and death is so brilliant, for it makes death seem less harsh. As we age and approach death, nature takes away our “playthings” gradually (v. 10); that is, we slowly lose our physical strength, our energy, our vision and hearing, our abilities to do various things well, etc. We become tired and long for rest, but at the same time, we want to cling to life and its pleasures, just as the child wants to cling to his or her toys before bed. Longfellow never uses harsh phrases, but says that nature “leads us to rest gently” (v. 11). With this allusion to the ideals of the Christian faith and religion, Longfellow uses nature as God’s tool to help to smooth the way to death, lulling us gently toward that blessed future. Longfellow seems to believe, as the Christian faith proclaims, that the unknown existence awaiting us far exceeds the flawed life here on earth, even when we cannot grasp the immensity of the life that awaits our transition.

Sonnets are one of my favorite forms of poetry. The fact that a sonnet is merely fourteen lines and says so much is remarkable. I just recently tried to write a sonnet of my own recently, and it was a very fun and challenging project.

Sonnet II

Unearth the feeling in your blood

‘Twas buried ‘neath the skin of lies,

And never to uncover, would

If not the beauty in her eyes.

Dig into life, reveal the joy

The purpose to awake the day,

Entomb the sly and bitter ploys

That challenge every life this way.

And render in such living, bliss

What’s sought by every heart to find,

For some, a redirected miss

A fairytale of other kind.

Oh, revelation, rise, in lieu

Of what the heart already knew. 

                       

                           -Stephanie Gregoire