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Pastimes : Calling all SI Poets -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: jpmac who wrote (1913)	2/17/2000 5:23:00 PM
From: Tom Kiesel	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 2095

Hmm. I don't know about made for each other. Don't a lot of people think the market is crazy? Ahh.... Who am I to argue out of fate. Sure, we were made for each other. :) There's a lot to be said for companies making jeans with more reinforced rears. Lord knows some of mine are on their way out. The whole Draino thing though.... ouch. I've been livin' the apartment life since August, but we haven't had any drain problems so far. Just luck I guess. :) Here's an amazing poem that I came across while browsing the bookshelves at home. Came from a "Young Adult's Poetry Reader" or somesuch. I, being the young adult I am, was interested and found this. I've actually put this one up on my Purdue directory entry. People who search the Purdue site for my name are treated to this and some of my bad humor. Take care, -Tom THE DAY IS DONE - H.W. 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, 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.