The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains . . . continued
I did not know that this poem was the source of that line.
Longfellow is the greatest, even if one doesn’t like his whole poems.