The Day is Done

    Falls from the wings of Night

    As a feather is wafted¹ 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 longing²

    That is not akin³ 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 soothe⁴ this restless feeling

    And banish⁵ the thoughts of day.

    Not from the grand old masters

    Not from the bards⁶ sublime⁷

    Whose distant footsteps echo

    Through the corridors of Time.

    For like strains of martial⁸ music

    Their mighty⁹ thoughts suggest

    Life's endless toil¹⁰ and endeavor；

    And to-night I long for rest.

    Read from some humbler poet

    Whose songs gushed¹¹ from his heart

    As showers from the clouds of summer

    Or tears from the eyelids¹² start；

    Who through long days of labor¹³

    And nights devoid¹⁴ 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 benediction¹⁵

    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 infest¹⁶ the day

    Shall fold their tents like the Arabs

    And as silently steal away.