At six o'clock of an autumn dusk With the sky in the west a rusty red, The bells of the mission down in the valley Cry out that the day is dead.
The first star pricks as sharp as steel-- Why am I suddenly so cold?
Three bells, each with a separate sound Clang in the valley, wearily tolled.
Bells in Venice, bells at sea, Bells in the valley heavy and slow --There is no place over the crowded world Where I can forget that the days go.
