1844 

                                THE DAY IS DONE

                         by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow








şiElectronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)
DAK Upgraded Edition, Copyright 2000, DAK Industries 2000, Inc(R)şI

{DAY_IS_DONE
                      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,
                                                                  {^line 20}
              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
                                                                  {^line 40}
              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.
-
-
                             THE END