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.