H.W.Longfellow...

The day is done.
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 sadnrss and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
as mist resembles the rain.

Come,read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this feeling,
And banish the thoughts of the day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
From the corridors of time.

For, like strains of martial music,
As their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavour
And tonight I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart
Like showers from the clouds of summer
Or tears from eyelids start.

Such songs have power to quiet
This restless pulse of care
And come like benediction
That follows after the prayer.

Then read from 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 Arabs

And as silently stealth away...