The skylarks are far behind that sang over the down; I can hear no more those suburb nightingales; Thrushes and blackbirds sing in the gardens of the town In vain: the noise of man, beast, and machine prevails. But the call of children in the unfamiliar streets That echo with a familiar twilight echoing, Sweet as the voice of nightingale or lark, completes A magic of strange welcome, so that I seem a king Among man, beast, machine, bird, child, and the ghost That in the echo lives and with the echo dies. The friendless town is friendly; homeless, I am not lost; Though I know none of these doors, and meet but strangers' eyes. Never again, perhaps, after tomorrow, shall I see these homely streets, these church windows alight, Not a man or woman or child among them all: But it is All Friends' Night, a traveler's good-night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JEALOUSY by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE NATHAN HALE [SEPTEMBER 22, 1776] by FRANCIS MILES FINCH THE RIVER-MERCHANT'S WIFE: A LETTER by LI PO TRANSFIGURATION by LOUISA MAY ALCOTT A CAUTION TO POETS by MATTHEW ARNOLD |