THE MARTINS IN THE CHURCH-TOWER by AUGUSTA DAVIES WEBSTER

WE build our nests in the old church-tower,
The ivy shades us from rain and shower,
We peep through the leaves at the world below,
We see when they come, we see when they go;
Hiding the ivy leaves among,
They can hear our twittering song,
But they little think we are watching them.

Downward we look from our sheltered home,
We see when the laughing weddings come,
The white-robed bride with eyes drooped down,
With shining gems, and blossoming crown:
The martins looking from above
Know if her thoughts be thoughts of love,
Or pride in the robe and garland and gem.

We see when the funeral train comes slow,
Solemn and hushed through the porch below;
And we see them pass to the place of rest,
Heavy and sad as with grief opprest,
We know if it be true and deep,
If their lost shall be lone in sleep,
Or their spirits shall seek the loved one still.

We watch when the Sunday bell rings loud,
The mien demure of the church-going crowd
We watch to see the out-pouring throng,
We know who has found the sermon long,
Who has fretted to be away,
We know the hearts that love to pray,
And we know those that harbour thoughts of ill.

Little men think as they pass below,
What secrets the fluttering martins know,
Of what we have heard and what we have seen,
Nestling beneath our dark ivy screen,
Hiding the glossy leaves among:
They can hear the martins' song,
But they little know the tales we can tell.

We tell them forth to the bright blue sky,
And the gossiping breezes passing by
Listen and echo them out again,
But they never tell their stories to men;
Passing us heedless as of old,
They know not of their stories told,
In the old church-tower where the martins dwell.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...