Down a drowsy, dewy hill
Leads the road away
To the walls of Twilight Town
At the close of day;
There the people wander slow
Down the shadow street
Fingers to their lips they lift
When they chance to meet.
All the houses, painted gray,
Blink their sleepy eyes;
Mothers, all along the way,
Whisper lullabyes;
Each bird-baby cuddles down
In its purple nest;
This is quiet Twilight Town;
The watchword there is Rest.