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.
Brilliantly inked outstanding poem reiterating the continuous flow of the circle of dawn and dusk. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The poem reflects the feelings as if something has gone amiss when the day is about to descend into a night. Thanks. The bells of the mission down in the valley Cry out that the day is dead.