1844

THE DAY IS DONE

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THE DAY IS DONE -

The day is done, and the darkness

Falls from the wings of Night,

As a feather is wafted downward

From an eagle in his flight. -

I see the lights of the village

Gleam through the rain and the mist,

And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me

That my soul cannot resist: -

A feeling of sadness and longing,

That is not akin to pain,

And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles the rain. -

Come, read to me some poem,

Some simple and heartfelt lay,

That shall soothe this restless feeling,

And banish the thoughts of day. -

Not from the grand old masters,

Not from the bards sublime,

Whose distant footsteps echo

Through the corridors of Time. -

For, like strains of martial music,

Their mighty thoughts suggest

Life's endless toil and endeavor;

And to-night I long for rest. -

Read from some humbler poet,

Whose songs gushed from his heart,

As showers from the clouds of summer,

Or tears from the eyelids start; -

Who, through long days of labor,

And nights devoid of ease,

Still heard in his soul the music

Of wonderful melodies. -

Such songs have power to quiet

The restless pulse of care,

And come like the benediction

That follows after prayer. -

Then read from the treasured volume

The poem of thy choice,

And lend to the rhyme of the poet

The beauty of thy voice. -

And the night shall be filled with music,

And the cares, that infest the day,

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,

And as silently steal away. - -