Stevenson’s speaker begins alone on a stormy night, with wind howling and rain drumming against the glass. But the solitude quickly softens—crickets chirp, his pipe glows, and he realizes he’s not truly by himself. The Past settles onto his knee like a familiar friend, sharing memories both glad and sad. Comparing those days to the present, even the sorrows feel easier to bear. Then his gaze lifts toward the “faded Future,” as uncertain as it is cherished. Hope, he says, is like a miner’s lamp or a sail to a castaway—it turns the feeble into the brave. Looking ahead, he sees wonderful things still worth doing, and he resolves to try, no matter the cost. Even if failure or an early death should come, he will mourn the lost design but never the man who dared. The mood is intimate and resilient—a fireside meditation that moves from loneliness into quiet, determined hope.
The Wind Is Without There And Howls In The Trees — Summary
THE wind is without there and howls in the trees, And the rain-flurries drum on the glass: Alone by the fireside with elbows on knees I can number the hours as they pass. Yet now, when to cheer me the crickets begin, And my pipe is just happily lit, Believe me, my friend, tho' the evening draws in, That not all uncontested I sit.
Alone, did I say? O no, nowise alone With the Past sitting warm on my knee, To gossip of days that are over and gone, But still charming to her and to me. With much to be glad of and much to deplore, Yet, as these days with those we compare, Believe me, my friend, tho' the sorrows seem more They are somehow more easy to bear.
And thou, faded Future, uncertain and frail, As I cherish thy light in each draught, His lamp is not more to the miner - their sail Is not more to the crew on the raft. For Hope can make feeble ones earnest and brave, And, as forth thro' the years I look on, Believe me, my friend, between this and the grave, I see wonderful things to be done.
To do or to try; and, believe me, my friend, If the call should come early for me, I can leave these foundations uprooted, and tend For some new city over the sea. To do or to try; and if failure be mine, And if Fortune go cross to my plan, Believe me, my friend, tho' I mourn the design I shall never lament for the man.