THE five old bells Are hurrying and eagerly calling, Imploring, protesting They know, but clamorously falling Into gabbling incoherence, never resting, Like spattering showers from a bursten sky-rocket dropping In splashes of sound, endlessly, never stopping. The silver moon That somebody has spun so high To settle the question, yes or no, has caught In the net of the night's balloon, And sits with a smooth bland smile up there in the sky Smiling at naught, Unless the winking star that keeps her company Makes little jests at the bells' insanity, As if he knew aught! The patient Night Sits indifferent, hugged in her rags, She neither knows nor cares Why the old church sobs and brags; The light distresses her eyes, and tears Her old blue cloak, as she crouches and covers her face, Smiling, perhaps, if we knew it, at the bells' loud clattering disgrace. The wise old trees Drop their leaves with a faint, sharp hiss of contempt, While a car at the end of the street goes by with a laugh; As by degrees The poor bells cease, and the Night is exempt, And the stars can chaff The ironic moon at their ease, while the dim old church Is peopled with shadows and sounds and ghosts that lurch In its cenotaph. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PALINODE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SUMMER APPROACHES by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD BEFORE VICKSBURG by GEORGE HENRY BOKER ON TYING DAPHNE'S SHOE by J. STUART BRYAN ANSWER TO LINES WRITTEN IN ROUSSEAU'S LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON COURAGE REGAINED by BERTHA TODD CAMPBELL THE LADY JACQUELINE by PHOEBE CARY |