 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
397
CITY BELLS.
Kneeling by her who is my Heaven, I heard
The clamoring chimes of city churches fill
The mid-May evening, warm and deadly still.
My soul recoiled within me, and recurred
To winter nights, when the black air was stirred
By the same sound, — when she whose perfect will
Is my heart's law, whose touch my soul can thrill,
Was far away, past reach of kiss or word.
The clamoring chimes of city churches fill
The mid-May evening, warm and deadly still.
My soul recoiled within me, and recurred
To winter nights, when the black air was stirred
By the same sound, — when she whose perfect will
Is my heart's law, whose touch my soul can thrill,
Was far away, past reach of kiss or word.
So will they sound again, O God, when she
Is far, once more, Black Winter in her stead;
So shall they sound again in Jubilee,
When in some new-born spring our lips are wed;
So shall they sound, through days and nights to be,
When we, at last, our last farewell have said.
Is far, once more, Black Winter in her stead;
So shall they sound again in Jubilee,
When in some new-born spring our lips are wed;
So shall they sound, through days and nights to be,
When we, at last, our last farewell have said.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |