Kansas City Finds

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.

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.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This little ditty was in one of the books I opened on my arrival home. Last month,  K, S. and I went to Kansas City - for a boxing tournament - K. brought home a belt and I sent home books before heading to see my fam.  While in KC we enjoyed a bit of the local flavor: Arthur Bryants BBQ was delicious and a little local bookshop called Steele's. It was glorious and treasure filled and a bit of a mess.  Our friend S. enjoyed browsing the classics - in the way they should be read- old, nicely printed and bound copies as opposed to those dime store dealies.  I think the owner has a bit of the book hoarder gene, but those in glass  houses shouldn't throw rocks, ...ahem- whoops!  The store's in North Kansas City, my only advise would be don't waste your time in the very back two rows - it had a lot of open theology garbage...unfortunately that stuff sells in today's market - all the more reason to pray  and work for a market change.

The poem is from a lovely copy of Oxford's Book of American Verse... it had me at Anne Bradstreet - but I must confess - the last several nights I've ended on this poem .  I love the imagery ...

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

and how's this for a request for your husband to read... 

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.