Twilight

  Twilight it is, and the far woods are dim, and the rooks

      cry and call.

  Down in the valley the lamps, and the mist, and a star over all,

  There by the rick, where they thresh, is the drone at an end,

  Twilight it is, and I travel the road with my friend.

  I think of the friends who are dead, who were dear

      long ago in the past,

  Beautiful friends who are dead, though I know that

      death cannot last;

  Friends with the beautiful eyes that the dust has defiled,

  Beautiful souls who were gentle when I was a child.