Always the ghost of these will wake again, When other bells have clamored and are still. Nowhere are bells that half so sweetly fill The shaken tower, the drifting flaws of rain; Of myriad sounds these only will remain. Even the waters pouring all night under the mill May be forgot, but on some distant hill, When carillons die out across the plain, There will come back some morning's purity Of bells, peal after peal of silver song, Magdalen's sweet tune, or the tumultuous chimes Of all the bells on some high noon in glee Reverberant; or, echoing deep and long, The bell of Christ's, tolling its hundred times. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DRIVING INTO LARAMIE by JAMES GALVIN YOUTH'S PROGENY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON JOHN WILKES BOOTH AT THE FARM (JANUARY 12, 1848) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |