Hazel Hall’s speaker spends a long day sewing, and she imagines her sorrow as the thread she works with. The motion of the needle—turning in and out, making one stitch and then another—becomes a way of coping. She does not pretend the grief is small: the thread is long and strong. But she trusts that steady, repeated effort will wear it thin and frayed by tomorrow. The mood is quiet, tired, and yet determined, like someone keeping her hands busy so her feelings can slowly be worked through. By the final lines, sorrow has not disappeared, but it has changed. It is old and worn, and it has also produced something—“something sorrow has made.” That may be a physical piece of sewing, but it also suggests that pain, once worked through, can leave behind meaning or even a kind of usefulness.
The Long Day — Summary
I am sewing out my sorrow, Like a thread, wearing it thin; It will be old and frayed to-morrow. Needle, turn out; needle, turn in.
Sorrow's thread is a long thread. Needle, one stitch; needle, two. And sorrow's thread is a strong thread, But I will wear it through.
Then not only will sorrow Be old and thin and frayed; But I shall have to-morrow Something sorrow has made.