118. TWILIGHT
Reading edition
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;
{139}
Friends with the beautiful eyes that the dust has defiled, Beautiful souls who were gentle when I was a child.
John Masefield.