the day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of night, as a feather is wafted downward from an eagel in his flight.
i see the lights of the village gleam through the rain and the mist, and a feeling of sadness comes over me that my soul cannot resist.
a feeling of sadness and longing, that is not akin to pain, and 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 endever, 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 from 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 tresured 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.
tavos Community Member 
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