I.
To the belfry, one by one, went the ringers from the sun,
Toll slowly.
And the oldest ringer said, "Ours is music for the dead
When the rebecks are all done."
II.
Six abeles i' the churchyard grow on the north side in a row,
Toll slowly.
And the shadows of their tops rock across the little slopes
Of the gra**y graves below.
III.
On the south side and the west a small river runs in haste,
Toll slowly.
And, between the river flowing and the fair green trees a-growing,
Do the dead lie at their rest.
IV.
On the east I sate that day, up against a willow grey:
Toll slowly.
Through the rain of willow-branches I could see the low hill-ranges
And the river on its way.
V.
There I sate beneath the tree, and the bell tolled solemnly,
Toll slowly.
While the trees' and river's voices flowed between the solemn noises,—
Yet d**h seemed more loud to me.
VI.
There I read this ancient rhyme while the bell did all the time
Toll slowly.
And the solemn knell fell in with the tale of life and sin,
Like a rhythmic fate sublime.