The day is done
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem “The Day Is Done” was published in 1844 as an introduction to an anthology of poems compiled by him and titled “The Waif”.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born on 27 February 1807 in Portland, Maine, US, and he died on 24 March 1882 in Cambridge, Massachusetts, US, at the age of 75.A poet and educator, Longfellow was the first American to completely translate Dante’s Divine Comedy into English. He wrote many lyric poems known for their musicality, often presenting stories of mythology and legend. He became the most popular American poet of his day and had success overseas.
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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.