The Day Is done Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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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.