The 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,

    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 tonight 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 a power to quiet

    The restless pulse of care,

And comes 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.

    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is what I am memorizing right now and I found that breaking it up like this is easier for me to remember the stanzas.

I call this my study in blue.

~Kim~