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Poem by Anonymous


The Bells of Fletching


THE FLETCHING bells, with silver chime,
  Come softened oТer the distant shore;
Though I have heard them many a time,
  They never sang so sweet before.

A silence rests upon the hill,
  A listening awe pervades the air;
The very flowers are shut and still,
  And bowed as if in prayer.



Anonymous


Anonymous's other poems:
  1. The Guard-Chamber
  2. Blenheim
  3. The Monks of Kilcrea
  4. The Banshee
  5. The Old Scottish Gentleman


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