On--
Thro' the gleaming gray
I ran to the storm and clang--
To the red, red hill where the great tree swayed--
And scattered bells like autumn leaves.
How the red bells rang!
My breath within my breast
Was held like a diver's breath--
The leaves were tangled locks of gray--
The boughs of the tree were white and gray,
Shaped like scythes of Death.
The boughs of the tree would sweep and sway--
Sway like scythes of Death.
But it was beautiful!
I knew that all was well.
A thousand bells from a thousand boughs
Each moment bloomed and fell.
On the hill of the wind-swept tree
There were no bells asleep;
They sang beneath my trailing wings
Like rivers sweet and steep.
Deep rock-clefts before my feet
Mighty chimes did keep
And little choirs did keep.