Of holy bells. The loud rooks should desist
A moment from their cawing; the dim sun
Brighten his face, the rounded meadows glisten,
And all the windswept grassy hillsides listen
And then take up the sound the bells begun.
Slowly, at length, rounding the hill, a white,
Long, slender, floating airship flies.
It, of this quiet landscape, is the sight
Most peaceful—white splash on the blue spring skies.
It passes over the church-crowned slope, it blends