In summertime on Bredon <br />The bells they sound so clear; <br />Round both the shires they ring them <br />In steeples far and near, <br />A happy noise to hear. <br /> <br />Here of a Sunday morning <br />My love and I would lie, <br />And see the coloured counties, <br />And hear the larks so high <br />About us in the sky. <br /> <br />The bells would ring to call her <br />In valleys miles away: <br />'Come all to church, good people; <br />Good people, come and pray. <br />But here my love would stay. <br /> <br />And I would turn and answer <br />Among the springing thyme, <br />'Oh, peal upon our wedding, <br />And we will hear the chime, <br />And come to church in time. <br /> <br />But when the snows at Christmas <br />On Bredon top were strewn, <br />My love rose up so early <br />And stole out unbeknown <br />And went to church alone. <br /> <br />They tolled the one bell only, <br />Groom there was none to see, <br />The mourners followed after, <br />And so to church went she, <br />And would not wait for me. <br /> <br />The bells they sound on Bredon, <br />And still the steeples hum. <br />'Come all to church, good people,' - <br />Oh, noisy bells, be dumb; <br />I hear you, I will come.<br /><br />Alfred Edward Housman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bredon-hill/
