Poetry Analysis: "The Day is Done", by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Write for the masses: "The Day is Done", by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882), in his poem "The Day Is Done", writes as an accomplished poet reaching out to the masses, with his words. Longfellow is an academic, an educator of the masses and a linguist. He writes in a lyric genre with magical musicality inherent in his poetry. (1)

One can sense that Longfellow is weary, at this time and is seeking rest, as he begins to pen this piece of poetry. Perhaps one way that he relaxes after a busy day, is by writing poetry. Many poets to do that.

Relax as you read this poem and enjoy its simplicity, rhythm and rhyme.

“The Day Is Done”, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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 and 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 Arabs,
And silently steal away. (2)

Longfellow may be alone, when he is writing this piece of poetry. It appears that he is tired and sad, as he seems to be seeking solace or comfort, in a poetry reading by the person who he is with, at least in his mind, if there is no one there with him. He may be reflecting on the past or re-living a memory. Perhaps it has to do with the loss of a loved one?

This poem suggests that Longfellow is sitting outside or near a window, on a rainy evening. His momentary reference to the eagle and the feather wafting downward, suggests nature is entering into repose for the pending night, just as he desires to do. The gleaming lights in the distant village are partially obscured by the mist and the rain.

Longfellow expresses sadness and a quiet longing that resembles sorrow, but only in the kind of a relationship that mist has to rain. For him, it has been distanced. He is possibly grieving, but not overwhelmed by sorrow. He is sad and longs to be comforted by someone.

Longfellow, being a person first and then a poet, understands the desire of people to find solace in poetry, even as he seeks solace for himself. He writes comforting poetry for others. The solace he is seeking is not just from the kind of poetry that the poet wants this other person to read to him. There is also comfort to be found in the voice of the reader. Perhaps this is the voice of one who is absent, maybe someone who used to read to him, at some time in the past. 

His brief reference to the grand masters and the bards has to do with his academic career, which he does not appear to disdain. He longs for the simplicity that does not reflect the harsher elements of life, at this particular moment. It may be the kind of poetry that brings healing to the soul, that he prefers to listen to when he is tired, rather than all of the words of human wisdom and power that traverse his academic day. 

Music has a way of doing that and in his own way, perhaps he is writing the lyric for a new song, from his 

own soul.

What he does not want to hear is the pounding of distant drums of war.

There is something in the heart of man that causes him to shy away from the traumatic elements of history, when he desires to rest. At that moment in time, Longfellow clings to the earth and the caretakers of the gardens of life. He retreats to nature to calm his soul. He writes to calm the soul of others, in the same way.

Longfellow desires to hear the thoughts and feelings of a person writing poetry about the simple life, from his or her own heart and soul. It is as if he longs for comforting music, where there is no music, other than in his poetry. He obviously respects the worker in the field, who sings his soul song from the heart and brings tears to another person's eyes.

In his own way, Longfellow manages to turn the darkness and somberness of the dreary evening, into the brightness and gentleness of a summer day, complete with showers. His mood moves to one of rest and relaxation, as he inwardly yearns to hear the sound of the rhyme and hears the beauty in the voice of the reader. His comfort comes as music that is not played, but inwardly heard. Perhaps it is only being written into his poem.

Can one write for the masses as this poet does and not be criticized for doing so? 

Unfortunately, no matter what a poet writes, there will be someone who will criticize his or her work. But, the same is true of prose. Academics will criticize this kind of poetry because of its simplicity. It is too simple! Non-academics will criticize it too, because it has been written by an academic. There is an element of jealousy when that happens, because an academic has a command of his words that a non-academic may never acquire. Little does the non-academic know or comprehend the hours of toil that have gone into obtaining education and trying to teach others. Teaching the masses can be a thankless job, too.

Maybe Longfellow returns to his academic world, as he envisions the Arabs folding their tents and leaving. 

Perhaps his academic world of this particular day had to do with that topic. But, regardless of why the Arabs are in his thoughts, at that moment in time, by writing this piece of poetry, he causes them to vanish, by quietly making reference to them and erasing them from his mind, along with all of the other cares of the day. 

They will disappear into the night. 

Would that life might be so simple!

Write for the masses? Not everyone is able to do so, although there are many who try.

(1) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Wadsworth_Longfellow

(2) http://poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=175166