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.