 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
THE NIGHT-KNELL.
Hold thy harsh iron tongue, thou sullen bell!Thou hast no touch of human sorrow, though
Thou lend'st a tongue to tell us it is so,
And dumb Death speak by thee! Of thy stern knell
Each stroke upon our bruis'd hearts seems to tell
As hammer-stroke on anvil, blow on blow,
Beating out life, remorseless and so slow,
With measured torture on each pang to dwell!
Too well dost thou interpret to the ear
Th' Unutteráble of the dumb-struck heart,
Whose inarticulate anguish seems to hear
A muffled utterance of its choking smart.
Like some poor animal in pain and fear,
Whose dumb moans tell all and yet the least part!
| Stones from The Quarry | |