Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921/Bells

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III
Bells
At six o'clock of an autumn dusk With the sky in the west a rusty red,The bells of the mission down in the valley Cry out that the day is dead.
The first star shines as sharp as steel— Why am I suddenly so cold?Three bells, each with a separate sound, Clang in the valley, wearily tolled.
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Bells in Venice, bells at sea, Bells in the valley, heavy and slow—There is no place over the crowded world Where I can forget that the days go.

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