AboutTed Nesbitt Expertise I am a reference librarian and a former advanced placement English
teacher. I can help identify poems, and I can define literary
terms. In the area of literary criticism or analyses of specific
poems, my experience and interests are these: Shakespeare,
18th- and 19th-century English literature, and American literature.
I prefer short, specific questions on particular authors, poems,
terms, or literary movements. I will not edit lengthy submissions
or write students` assignments.
Experience Masters degree in English.
Highly rated volunteer at the grammar and writing section of Allexperts.com for more than two years.
Question A few years ago I remember seeing something Longfellow had written that used the comparison of "Arabs folding their tents and silently steeling away" as a parallel for relaxing into a good night's rest from the problems of the day. If those weren't the exact words, they are real close. I've been unsuccessful in finding the source for this phrase in his poetry. Would you be able to help?
Thank you kindly.
Answer Gail:
You have a good memory. The poem is "The Day Is Done," and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is the poet.
Here is the complete text:
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.
