The poem describes how night falls and darkness descends, filling the speaker with feelings of sadness and longing. He asks to be read a simple poem from a humble poet to soothe his restless feelings and banish thoughts of the day, as the music of such poetry can quiet cares like a benediction. He wants the beauty of the reader's voice to fill the night with music and allow cares of the day to silently slip away.

1. The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(Poem #884)
The Day is Done
#884http://youtu.be/fCZqog3t64s

2. (Poem #884) 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.
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

3. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
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:
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

4. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

5. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

6. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time,
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

7. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And tonight I long for rest.
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

8. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of
summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

9. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

10. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
Such songs have a power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And comes like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

11. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
The Day is Done -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

12. (Poem #884) The Day is Done
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 -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

13. (Poem #884) 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 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,
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(Poem #884) The Day is Done
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 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 a 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 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.
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow