The Darkling Thrush Summary

It's the very end of the day. In fact, it's the very end of the year. The countryside is frozen into an icy, unwelcoming landscape. It's not quite Hoth, but it's close. As our speaker stares out into the gloom, he's reminded that everything around him is on the fast track to death and decay. We're not saying that our speaker is a downer. He's just not exactly a "glass half full" sort of guy.

Then again, maybe the world is full of zombie-like humans and gray, gray weather. After all, our speaker does hail from England. And the UK isn't exactly a tropical paradise. You'd think that our speaker would want to buy a one-way ticket to Aruba, right? Instead, he seems to obsess over the barren British countryside.

Things go from dull and depressing to outright dismal. No life seems to stir. Anywhere.

...Until, that is, our speaker hears the most unexpected sound: a bird singing. The little thing isn't in the best of shape. It's been beaten badly by the weather, and it seems as old and death-bound as the year itself. That doesn't stop it from belting its heart out, though. It's bound and determined to share every last ounce of joy in its soul.

Why be joyful when the world is so crummy? Well, that's a good question. In fact, that's exactly the question that our speaker asks himself. He can't figure out why in the world anything – let alone a bird – would waste its last breath in a song that no one will hear. Unfortunately, our feathered friend doesn't give him any answers. (What do you think this is, Disney? Birds don't talk, folks. Which makes it a bit tricky for out speaker to get any answers.)

Strangely enough, our speaker doesn't even try to figure it out. He's content to know that something out there sees a reason to exist and to be joyful – even if he can't comprehend the reasons himself.

But, don't worry, folks – one birdsong isn't going to turn this guy into an optimist. He's a hard skinned realist. No doubts about it. Nonetheless, he's able to appreciate happiness when he sees it. And that's something….right

Stanza 4 Summary

Get out the microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.

Lines 25-26

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,

  • Once again, the first four lines of the stanza start to bleed into each other. It's almost as if the speaker is gathering momentum as he continues to hear the thrush singing.
  • But, as the speaker himself points out, there's no good reason for the bird to be singing. We read about it ourselves: the world is a dead, dead, dead place. So why all this song?
  • Well, you've got us. Frankly, you've got our speaker, too. He can't seem to figure out why the bird wouldn't match his pitch to his surroundings. After all, that's what our speaker has done. The world seems crummy and depressing? Fine. I'll write a crummy and depressing poem. Satisfied?
  • But now our speaker's questioning his own choices. Sure, he's not doing it outright. After all, would you back down and change your mind in the middle of a poem you've been working really hard to finish? But we can see that the speaker's starting to understand that there might be other ways to imagine his art than just as a reflection his surroundings. After all, didn't you hear from every elementary school art teacher ever that art should be an expression of your soul? Maybe "ecstasy" doesn't come from without. Maybe it comes from within.
  • Of course, true Hardy-style, it's not another human being that brings our speaker this revelation. It's nature. And "art" isn't really "art," exactly. It's a birdsong. But in Hardy's mind, the more natural an art form is, the better.

Lines 29-30

That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air

  • OK, the bird is happy. Maybe our speaker's even a little comforted by the thought of the bird's company.
  • But he's not going to let on that he's happy. Oh, no. That would be way too cheerful. Instead, he plays it cool. He's not sure that the bird is singing a happy song. He just thinks that he could think the bird is happy. (Whew. How's that for complicated feelings?)
  • Notice Hardy's emphasis on the conditional here: instead of remarking that the speaker does think something, he notes that the speaker could think it.
  • Could, should, and would are all what our grandparents used to call "weasel words" – they suggest that something's possible, but they don't commit to anything.
  • It's sort of like that friend of yours who always says that he could be interested in going out on Friday night. Translated, that means "If there's nothing else for me to do, I might think about coming. But don't bank on it."

Lines 31-32

Some blessed Hope, of which he knew
And I was unaware.

  • Welcome to the twentieth century, folks. Hardy's poem ushers in the century with the last two lines: in them, he captures the worldview of most of the major writers of the next thirty years.
  • See, Modernists do want to believe that there's something lovely and wonderful and fulfilling out there in the world. They just can't figure out how to get from their present state of unhappiness, decay, and corruption to that happiness and peace.
  • Hardy negotiates the two extremes perfectly here: our speaker can sense Hope, but it's unintelligible to him – and not just because he doesn't happen to speak bird.

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