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.SourceThe script ran 0 seconds.
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