XV
Ding, dong, dell,
Bell, bell, bell!
What have you got to tell?
What is it the bells say,
From Greenwich up to Chelsea,—
The bells of wandering fancies,
Up and down
By sea and town
Like knights in old romances?
What is it that the bells say?
What is it you hear Dell say?
Explaining what the bells say?
An August day: an August night;
A morning in September;
A lily red; a jasmine white;
What more do you remember?
A harvest-moon, a hunter’s moon;
A partridge on the moorland;
A stack of wheat; an afternoon
In a yacht out by the Foreland.
A foxglove faded, a brook to be waded,
Apples and pears grown redder;
And the ways of the birds, which, without any words,
Say, “Come let us consider!”
