S3 E6: Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“Day is Done” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow explores themes of the end of the day, the beauty of nightfall, and the power of poetry to provide solace and escape from the cares of the day.

The speaker observes the darkness falling from the wings of night, likening it to a feather floating down from an eagle in flight. The lights of the village shining through the rain and mist evoke a sense of sadness within the speaker that she or he cannot resist. This sadness is not a painful emotion but rather a longing, a yearning for something more. The speaker asks for someone to read a poem – not from famous poets or grand old masters, but from a humble poet who writes from the heart.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow emphasizes the power of poetry to provide comfort and peace amidst the toil and endeavor of life. Songs that flow from the heart of a humble poet, like showers from the clouds or tears from the eyelids, have the ability to quiet the restless pulse of care and bring a sense of tranquility. He emphasizes the transformative nature of poetry and the power of poetic words given voice.

The speaker asks the reader to choose a poem from a treasured volume and read it aloud, lending the beauty of their voice to the rhyme of the poet. It is suggested that by doing so, the night will be filled with music and the worries of the day will silently fade away, much like the Arabs folding their tents and disappearing into the night.

So, the night will be filled with music and the worries of the day will silently fade away…

The Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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.

The Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – Rebecca's Reading Room

S3 E6: The Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 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. Photography & Recitation by Rebecca Budd Location Vancouver SeaWall, Vancouver, British Columbia Music by Gavin Luke “Finding Melody” Epidemic Soun https://www.epidemicsound.com/track/Xlx96TspQP/