Published in 1844, ' The Day Is Done ' has since become one of Longfellow's most popular poems. Beautifully written, it describes the feelings of a careworn person overwhelmed by the demands of a depressing and dreary day now hoping that the listener will read to him a poem composed by a lesser-known poet that will, he firmly believes help alleviate the melancholy induced by that strenuous and miserable day. Using metaphors that help set the mood and tone of the poem as we move through the stanzas, the master poet acquaints us with his state of mind and his desire to be lifted out of his gloom by listening to poetry. This is then a marvellous poem that has been exquisitely crafted. Both haunting and elegant, poem the poem is at the once, both relatable and irresistibly alluring.
Full Poem:
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.
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