The Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Powerful Life Poetry

As darkness descends, it evocates the burdens of the past. Cornered, the soul looks for an escape. What else can then bring contentment to a gloomy heart but poetic verses? Verses that pierce through the pain, shedding the worries of the day.
The Day is Done by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Read by: Tom O' Bedlam
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.
#poetry #inspiration

[@lindarennie1708]

My grand father was a surgeon in the First World War when you came home he lived with us until his passing. He would sit me on his lap and read to me the story of Hiawatha I can still recite the part when Hiawatha was younger. My Grandfather was a kind and humble man, that poem was the beginning of my journey into a deep and meaningful life....

[@enriqueballesteros9237]

😊

[@andrewhenderson8320]

My mum loved me reading this poem to her she died earlier this year at the grand old age of 94 at her funeral church sevice my grand daughters recited the poem from the pulpit needless to say i cried unashamedly 😔🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

[@0Eliza0]

Of course you did! I’m almost crying reading your comment :) happy Mother’s Day to her ❤

[@dwanderful1]

Beautiful

[@whaszis]

So love Longfellow's poetry.

[@dustbunee2007]

I just have to know, am I the only one who thinks of that episode of "The Brady Bunch" when I hear this? In 2004, my husband and I were in a community theater production of "Gypsy", and at pretty much every performance, whenever we'd hear "Together Wherever We Go" from backstage, we think of this poem, and start quoting and acting out those bits from that episode of "The Brady Bunch".

[@franceshaas8255]

Longfellow shows why rhymes work in poetry.

[@Fiaaana]

1:45 ...."tonight I long for rest"....this line breaks me

[@johntechwriter]

Magnificent narration.

[@amycalhoun3428]

I know

[@geraldarthurmoore5144]

Thank you for this truly inspirational compilation ❤️

[@romeucunha-ue1cw]

Such a beauty !

[@austinoates2934]

This is amazing.

[@PankajNikam]

Thanks for this motivation

[@amycalhoun3428]

😮 love it

[@boxfox2945]

Rising lawns, by Cobble stones. Abide. Often' May finds, set' beside. Old' chairs, and new' sun rise. Gathered there, to' witherd stairs. Brousing' hedge-rows, hide' prying' eyes. Long, beginning' song, before' laying dawn. Night' brings day's, near forgotten' to mind.

[@jmo8a_veda]

Sometimes problems are small and sometimes it snowballs.

[@jmo8a_veda]

(_)

[@boxfox2945]

Sometimes' snow burns'! Sometime' ice, changes' to fire' 🔥

[@shelleyharris9349]

Blessings ☮️✝️🪶🙏🌞✌️🙌🌍😇🎼🕊️🧭

[@BlueMoonInspiration]

It is amazing how the reader's voice, speed and tone, together with the music and background, can completely change the emotional feeling of a poem.

[@ruzenkacicka2606]

❤

[@way_truth_life_of_love]

My grandmother would recite this on the beach, then my mother did; l suppose I should now…

[@boxfox2945]

Naked dusk' as dawn's pre-rising. Gaintly' lay, it's falling. Above' hour's revoked, when under star-light's showering. Blissful air, incased' in evening. Leading' fatigue, loose' before night's, final' reprimand. A staying' of the grounds. As parting' thoughts, relinquish' their intellectual bindings. Where casted' down, releasing' bold confinement. Of their troubled' obligations.

[@boxfox2945]

In this' evening, brings' pale rise. Not' Morning, does begin' full day. Til' twenty, of-four their' hour's, gave. By long laid one's head, crumpled' bed sheets. Disturbed' what passing dread, had thought awakened. In-to dwelling, and pre-use' of it's bed. Where' did lost light' fade. Upon dark windows. Night begins' washing away, time's illusion. Kept solemnly' while wasted progress' of opportunity. Is strictly held, at length'en bay.

[@heyhashi]

0:12

[@DCFunBud]

The music is not a part of the poem. Poems do not require music. The words are music.

[@andrewhenderson8320]

Sure is nice tho 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿