Jane Caroline Reed Copy Book-The Day is Done

 

Jane Caroline Reed

The Day is Done

The day is done + the darkness

Falls from the wings of Night,

As a feather is wafted downward

From an eagle in its flight.

I see the lights of the village

Gleam through the rain + the mist,

And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me

That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longings,

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 cares of the 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 humble 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 care,

Still heard in his soul the music

Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have 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 the 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.

H. W. Longfellow

January 5, 1868

As a side note, there is a strange cypher in the upper right conner of the first page of this poem.

From Jane Caroline Reed's Copy Book