Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Midnight Mass for the Dying Year

{{smallcaps|Yes}}, the Year is growing old,
And his eye is pale and bleared!

Death personified as violent

The Year isn't fading gently—Death physically 'plucks' him by the beard. This is assault, not rest. The repetition 'Sorely, sorely!' emphasizes the pain.

Death, with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard,

Death personified as violent

The Year isn't fading gently—Death physically 'plucks' him by the beard. This is assault, not rest. The repetition 'Sorely, sorely!' emphasizes the pain.

Death personified as violent

The Year isn't fading gently—Death physically 'plucks' him by the beard. This is assault, not rest. The repetition 'Sorely, sorely!' emphasizes the pain.

Sorely, sorely!
The leaves are falling, falling,
Solemnly and slow;
Caw! caw! the rooks are calling,

Rooks as mourners

'Caw! caw!' mimics the actual sound of crows, but rooks were traditional symbols of death and desolation in 19th-century poetry. The onomatopoeia makes the symbol audible.

It is a sound of woe,
A sound of woe!

Winds as liturgy

The winds don't just sound like church music—they literally 'chant solemn masses' and sing prayers. This is the natural world performing a funeral rite.

Through woods and mountain passes
The winds, like anthems, roll;
They are chanting solemn masses,
Singing, "Pray for this poor soul,
Pray, pray!"
And the hooded clouds, like friars,

Hooded clouds as friars

The extended metaphor makes rain into prayer beads ('tell their beads in drops of rain'). But notice the punchline: their prayers are 'all in vain.' Even religious ritual can't save the dying year.

Tell their beads in drops of rain,
And patter their doleful prayers;
But their prayers are all in vain,
All in vain!
There he stands in the foul weather,
The foolish, fond Old Year,

Lear comparison

The Old Year is 'like weak, despised Lear'—a king stripped of power and dignity. Both wear crowns (Lear's and this year's flowers) but have lost everything that made them matter.

Crowned with wild flowers and with heather,
Like weak, despisèd Lear,
A king, a king!
Then comes the summer-like day,

False mercy

The 'summer-like day' is a cruel gift—it gives the dying year one last moment of joy before death. The Old Year mistakes gentleness for salvation ('Pray do not mock me so!').

False mercy

The 'summer-like day' is a cruel gift—it gives the dying year one last moment of joy before death. The Old Year mistakes gentleness for salvation ('Pray do not mock me so!').

Bids the old man rejoice!
His joy! his last! Oh, the old man gray
Loveth that ever-soft voice,
Gentle and low.
To the crimson woods he saith,
To the voice gentle and low
Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath,
"Pray do not mock me so!
Do not laugh at me!"
And now the sweet day is dead;
Cold in his arms it lies;
No stain from its breath is spread
Over the glassy skies,
No mist or stain!
Then, too, the Old Year dieth,
And the forests utter a moan,
Like the voice of one who crieth
In the wilderness alone,
"Vex not his ghost!"
Then comes, with an awful roar,
Gathering and sounding on,
The storm-wind from Labrador,
The wind Euroclydon,

Euroclydon wind

[CONTEXT] Euroclydon is the biblical storm wind from Acts 27:14 that shipwrecks Paul. Using this name charges the storm with apocalyptic weight—not just weather, but divine judgment.

The storm-wind!
Howl! howl! and from the forest
Sweep the red leaves away!
Would the sins that thou abhorrest,
O soul! could thus decay,
And be swept away!
For there shall come a mightier blast,
There shall be a darker day;
And the stars, from heaven down-cast
Like red leaves be swept away!

Kyrie eleison ending

The final lines switch to Greek liturgical language ('Lord, have mercy / Christ, have mercy'). The poem ends not with closure but with a prayer—suggesting judgment extends beyond the year into eternity.

Kyrie, eleyson!
Christe, eleyson!

Kyrie eleison ending

The final lines switch to Greek liturgical language ('Lord, have mercy / Christ, have mercy'). The poem ends not with closure but with a prayer—suggesting judgment extends beyond the year into eternity.

Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The Year as King: Dignity and Destruction

Longfellow transforms New Year's Eve into a mock-funeral mass. The dying year is crowned—he's royalty—but that crown is made of 'wild flowers and heather,' cheap substitutes for real power. By comparing him to King Lear, Longfellow makes the year's death a tragedy of lost dignity. This isn't sentimental nostalgia; it's a meditation on how time strips away everything we thought mattered.

The poem's structure mirrors a Catholic funeral service: the rooks sing the opening dirge, the winds chant 'anthems,' the clouds perform as friars with prayer beads. But here's the trap: all this religious ceremony accomplishes nothing. The prayers are 'all in vain.' The poem is asking whether ritual meaning survives when the subject is merely time passing—whether a year's death deserves the same sacred treatment as a human death.

Why the Apocalyptic Ending Matters

The final stanza abandons the year entirely and pivots to cosmic judgment. The Labrador storm wind becomes Euroclydon—the biblical shipwreck wind—and suddenly we're not mourning 1849 anymore. We're watching the end of the world: 'the stars, from heaven down-cast / Like red leaves be swept away!' The poem ends with Greek liturgical phrases (Kyrie eleison / Christe eleison) instead of English, as if language itself breaks down before apocalypse.

This shift is crucial: Longfellow uses the dying year as a rehearsal for human mortality and final judgment. The year dies like Lear dies—stripped, mocked, powerless. But that death is only a preview. The 'mightier blast' and 'darker day' are coming for us too. The poem's real subject isn't December 31st; it's the question of whether anything—ritual, prayer, dignity—survives the wind.