The Darkling Thrush
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
Commentary
(31 December, 1900)
Note: Originally titled “By the Century’s Deathbed”
We did this poem in high school, before the turn of the century, and I recall how we spent quite a bit of time discussing the date the poem was written. Apparently, at that time it was understood that the 19th century turned to the 20th on 1st January 1901 (rightly so).
Anyway, here’s some additional information for those interested:
“… to commemorate the occasion, Hardy composed a poem originally titled “By the Century’s Deathbed” which was published under that name in the Graphic on 19 December 1900. It later was renamed “The Darkling Thrush”, and has been published under that title ever since. It is considered by many to be one of Hardy’s finest poems. It is included in his 1901 collection titled Poems of the Past and the Present, and, though written several weeks earlier, is dated 31 December 1900.
The year 1900 was not kind to Thomas Hardy. His marriage to Emma had become strained; she sat in her upper room writing letters and dabbling in poetry; he sat alone in his Max Gate study writing letters and serious poetry. Sickness in Emma’s family had caused her to be absent from Max Gate for prolonged periods, upsetting the daily routine so important to Hardy. Two of Emma’s cousins had been resident at Max Gate for several weeks, another upsetting anxiety in his domestic life.
Thus, at year’s end, as the 19th century drew its last breaths, Hardy composed his thoughts at that time. He portrays a wistfully gloomy, wintry world, “as fervourless as I”. Yet, within that colorless scene, a thrush sings a joyful, hopeful carol. This is classic Hardy: always hoping for the best even within the context of a conviction of the worst.”
have a great new year!
neha
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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
Kattymaus1 · 8 July 2003
Hey over there,
I’m an English student from Germany and at the end of the term I have to write an exam about Thomas Hardys “The darkling thrush”. So, if you have any information for me, please send it!!! That would be very nice!! Thanks, Kathrin
Abdasalam Ehnish · 7 January 2004
hi
Asma Khanom · 9 January 2004
this poem sounds sooooo depressing but thats all i can gather from it i would really appreciate a bit info on it like whats he really going on about a line by line explanation would be nice if i could get it lol
Asma Khanom · 12 January 2004
hi jus wondering if u ever did get the information on the poem the darkling thrush as i am also a student looking for that information
jfrost · 8 November 2006
can i ask wt the hell this poem is about for my english essay
Stanley Allen · 27 March 2007
“Frost was spectre-gray”
Robert Frost, with a roguish twinkle, recognized his own name in Hardy’s poem and made sly reference to it in one of his own: “Come In”, which also gloomily speaks of thrush music echoing in the dark.
Was Frost’s poem a rejoinder/repudiation of Hardy’s? Yes and no. Without a “blessed Hope”, Frost nonetheless insisted on enjoying what all there was, and so refused to “come in to the dark and lament”.
Stanley
Geoff Lander · 29 December 2007
May God help you. So many subtle ideas here. So English. So Hardy. So melancholy. Pre-mass entertainment how much was there to do on a grey afternoon? A sprectre grey afternoon, spectre being a ghost, an allusion to death? How much more important was birdsong then? At a time for reflection, at the end of the century was it a signal of hope? The small,old thrush with death approaching, a thrush in the winter wind, no warm fire for him, but still a cheering song.