Times are bad. Everything around us seems doleful and gloomy. Of the disasters we had only read in fiction, are now crawling out of the pages. At this time, all we want to find is hope. Hope , which consoles us that things will get better, expectations of the long nightmare ending and a belief that we too can resurrect ourselves like phoenix are those to which we dearly cling to.  

Similarly, the poem ‘The Darkling Thrush’ is also set in a sombre mood. When the poem starts, we find the poet looking at everything as disconsolate. He is at his gate looking at the frost covered surroundings. The frost has made everything look pale like a ghost. The sun is setting and the day is coming to an end. Even the bine-stems are lifeless this winter. The lanes which would usually be bustling with humans are now forlorn. Winter has shut men into their houses and men huddle around the hearth to feel the warmth.

“And all mankind that haunted nigh

Had sought their household fires.” 

These lines made me think that no matter how cold the outer world is, we feel warmth once inside our home. This warmth comes from our loved ones and it makes us not give up yet. 

When we learn the fact that this poem was written on the 29th of December in 1900, we understand the context of the second stanza better. It wasn’t just the end of the year but also of the century. It may even be considered as a dirge to the ending century. The land is referred to as the corpse of the century with the clouds forming its crypt and wind lamenting the death of the century. There is no trace of life. Even the germs and microorganisms from which we were born are also lying frozen beneath the frozen ground. Everything the poet sees looks as passionless as him.

“And every spirit upon earth

Seemed fervourless as I.”

In the third stanza, the poet finds the most extraordinary thing happening. A sweet singing voice vibrates through the air. It is full of happiness and uncontrollable joy. It is a thrush. It’s appearance isn’t so grand. It is old, weak, small and scruffy. But it pours its soul into the song as the day is darkening.

“An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

Upon the growing gloom.”

It is interesting to note the description of the thrush. It is almost battered out of life yet it sings full of life and energy. Though we are worn out, though we are exhausted, we should never give up for we don’t know what lies ahead and for we haven’t opened all the doors.

 There is nothing notable in the surrounding which would inspire the thrush to sing. There is nothing so full of life like that ‘ecstatic sound’ near and far. The thrush singing is out of place and odd. But it carried with it something that was unknown to the poet. The bird knew of the ‘Hope’ that the poet failed to see. 

“That I could think there trembled through

His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

And I was unaware.”

Though the surrounding is dreary and dull, the thrush knew that it wouldn’t be the same forever. The winter will eventually end; new things will spring from the ground; the lanes will once again be bustling with life. This the poet did not understand. The last lines of this poem also reminded me of the last line of Shelley’s ‘Ode to the West Wind’.

“If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?”

We all should be like the little thrush. Finding hope and giving hope. All I want to say is – this too will pass away, and when tomorrow comes, it will be brighter than today.