The skylarks are far behind that sang over the down; br I can hear no more those suburb nightingales; br Thrushes and blackbirds sing in the gardens of the town br In vain: the noise of man, beast, and machine prevails. br br But the call of children in the unfamiliar streets br That echo with a familiar twilight echoing, br Sweet as the voice of nightingale or lark, completes br A magic of strange welcome, so that I seem a king br br Among men, beast, machine, bird, child, and the ghost br That in the echo lives and with the echo dies. br The friendless town is friendly; homeless, I am not lost; br Though I know none of these doors, and meet but strangers' eyes. br br Never again, perhaps, after to-morrow, shall br I see these homely streets, these church windows alight, br Not a man or woman or child among them all: br But it is All Friends' Night, a traveller's good-night.