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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's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org