It's wavering image here

Here is another poem I read during the week, in honour of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's birthday on 28th February. There has not been enough Longfellow read and shared here. This one reminds me of Auden's As I Walked Out One Evening for some reason, which might have more to do with the structure and metre than the content, but when a poem sings along as this one does you know the poet is a master. I like the expression of heaven's 'wavering image here', which is exactly how it is.

THE BRIDGE

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

I stood on the bridge at midnight, 
   As the clocks were striking the hour, 
And the moon rose o'er the city, 
   Behind the dark church-tower. 

I saw her bright reflection 
   In the waters under me, 
Like a golden goblet falling 
   And sinking into the sea. 

And far in the hazy distance 
   Of that lovely night in June, 
The blaze of the flaming furnace 
   Gleamed redder than the moon. 

Among the long, black rafters 
   The wavering shadows lay, 
And the current that came from the ocean 
   Seemed to lift and bear them away; 

As, sweeping and eddying through them, 
   Rose the belated tide, 
And, streaming into the moonlight, 
   The seaweed floated wide. 

And like those waters rushing 
   Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thoughts came o’er me 
   That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, O, how often, 
   In the days that had gone by, 
I had stood on that bridge at midnight 
   And gazed on that wave and sky! 

How often, O, how often, 
   I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 
   O’er the ocean wild and wide! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 
   And my life was full of care, 
And the burden laid upon me 
   Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 
   It is buried in the sea; 
And only the sorrow of others 
   Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
   On its bridge with wooden piers, 
Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
   Comes the thought of other years. 

And I think how many thousands 
   Of care-encumbered men, 
Each bearing his burden of sorrow, 
   Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 
   Still passing to and fro, 
The young heart hot and restless, 
   And the old subdued and slow! 

And forever and forever, 
   As long as the river flows, 
As long as the heart has passions, 
   As long as life has woes; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
   And its shadows shall appear, 
As the symbol of love in heaven, 
   And its wavering image here.

From Poetry Foundation.