THERE'S mist in the hollows, There's gold on the tree, And South go the swallows Away over sea. They home in our steeple That climbs in the wind, And, parson and people, We welcome them kind. The steeple was set here In 1266; If William could get here He'd burn it to sticks. He'd burn it for ever, Bells, belfry and vane, That swallows would never Come back there again. He'd bang down their perches With cannon and gun, For churches are churches, And William's a Hun. So—mist in the hollow And leaf falling brown— Ere home comes the swallow May William be down! And high stand the steeples From Lincoln to Wells For parsons and peoples, For birds and for bells! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEAD COW FARM by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME by ROBERT HERRICK GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE JOY OF CHURCH FELLOWSHIP RIGHTLY ATTENDED by EDWARD TAYLOR THE WORLD; SONNET by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH WINDOW TRIMMER by MARGARET LEE ASHLEY THE HEATH-COCK by JOANNA BAILLIE |