Sunday Bells by Kathleen Dalziel

| No TrackBacks
Dew on the grassy uplands stretching forward,
   Bloom of the grape on brown hills far away, 
And blown above the blue waves sparkling shoreward, 
   The Sunday bells across Corio Bay.

All in the golden quiet of the morning 
   Knee-deep in wildflower weed and feathery grass, 
Only the sapling's crown my roof adorning, 
   I hear the airy echoes pause and pass. 

Down the low wind the silver clamor surges, 
   Swells to its full, and faintly ebbs away, 
One with the infinite fields of azure merges 
   The sound of bells across Corio Bay. 

Phantasies old of other years awaking 
   Fragments of lost delight and morning prime; 
Strung on a strand of silver numbers shaking
   All the warm airs of drowsy summer time. 

There was a year we used to walk together 
   Through the tall grasses by a ferny brae, 
Hearing adown the fairy golden weather    
   The Sunday bells across Corio Bay.

I wonder if your happy ghost goes straying 
   Over the headlands to the grassy hill? 
The sleepy things the sighing pines are saying 
   To the soft waters, are you hearing still 

Where harps AEolian with the waters blending 
   Make muted interludes among the trees? 
I cannot tell, I only know the ending 
   That left me lonely with my memories.
The bells grow silent and the last note lingers, 
   Down the green aisles the echo dies away; 
Surely I felt the touch of unseen fingers 
   Hearing the bells across Corio Bay.

First published in The Bulletin, 22 July 1926

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

No TrackBacks

TrackBack URL:

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on July 22, 2014 7:19 AM.

Lute Strings by Mabel Forrest was the previous entry in this blog.

Spring by Zora Cross is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.


Powered by Movable Type 4.23-en