Elinor Wylie

Bells in the Rain

Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain, 
Upon the steep cliffs of the town. 
Sleep falls; men are at peace again 
While the small drops fall softly down.

The bright drops ring like bells of glass 
Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown; 
Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass 
So softly as it falls on stone.

Peace falls unheeded on the dead 
Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink; 
Upon a live man’s bloody head 
It falls most tenderly, I think.