AT six o'clock of an autumn dusk <br />With the sky in the west a rusty red, <br />The bells of the mission down in the valley <br />Cry out that the day is dead. <br />The first star pricks as sharp as steel— <br />Why am I suddenly so cold? <br />Three bells, each with a separate sound <br />Clang in the valley, wearily tolled. <br />Bells in Venice, bells at sea, <br />Bells in the valley heavy and slow— <br />There is no place over the crowded world <br />Where I can forget that the days go.<br /><br />Sara Teasdale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bells-8/
