|Mournfully to and fro, to and fro the trees are waving;|
|What did you say, my dear?|
|The rain-bruised leaves are suddenly shaken, as a child|
|Asleep still shakes in the clutch of a sob -|
|Yes, my love, I hear.|
|One lonely bell, one only, the storm-tossed afternoon is braving,|
|Why not let it ring?|
|The roses lean down when they hear it, the tender, mild|
|Flowers of the bleeding-heart fall to the throb -|
|It is such a little thing!|
A wet bird walks on the lawn, call to the boy to come and look,
|Yes, it is over now.|
|Call to him out of the silence, call him to see|
|The starling shaking its head as it walks in the grass -|
|Ah, who knows how?|
|He cannot see it, I can never show it him, how it shook -|
|Don’t disturb him, darling.|
|- Its head as it walked: I can never call him to me,|
|Never, he is not, whatever shall come to pass.|
| No, look at the wet starling.|
- A Passing Bell by D.H. Lawrence
View all posts tagged as Poetry Friday at Bildungsroman.
View the roundup schedule at A Year of Reading.
Learn more about Poetry Friday.