He Climbs the Hill Where the Tree Grows

    On -
    Thro' the gleaming gray
    I ran to the storm and clang -
    To the red, red hill where the great tree swayed -
    And scattered bells like autumn leaves.
    How the red bells rang!
    My breath within my breast
    Was held like a diver's breath -
    The leaves were tangled locks of gray -
    The boughs of the tree were white and gray,
    Shaped like scythes of Death.
    The boughs of the tree would sweep and sway -
    Sway like scythes of Death.
    But it was beautiful!
    I knew that all was well.
    A thousand bells from a thousand boughs
    Each moment bloomed and fell.
    On the hill of the wind-swept tree
    There were no bells asleep;
    They sang beneath my trailing wings
    Like rivers sweet and steep.
    Deep rock-clefts before my feet
    Mighty chimes did keep
    And little choirs did keep.


            He Receives the Bells

            Honeyed, small and fair,
            Like flowers, in flowery lands -
            Like little maidens' hands -
            Two bells fell in my hair,
            Two bells caressed my hair.
            I pressed them to my purple lips
            In the strangling Chaos-air.


            He Starts on the Return Journey

    On desperate wings and strong,
    Two bells within my breast,
    I breathed again, I breathed again -
    West of the Universe -
    West of the skies of the West.
    Into the black toward home,
    And never a star in sight,
    By Faith that is blind I took my way
    With my two bosomed blossoms gay
    Till a speck in the East was the Milky way:
    Till starlit was the night.
    And the bells had quenched all memory -
    All hope -
    All borrowed sorrow:
    I had no thirst for yesterday,
    No thought for to-morrow.
    Like hearts within my breast
    The bells would throb to me
    And drown the siren stars
    That sang enticingly;
    My heart became a bell -
    Three bells were in my breast,
    Three hearts to comfort me.
    We reached the daytime happily -
    We reached the earth with glee.
    In an hour, in an hour it was done!
    The wings in their morning flight
    Were a thousand times ten thousand times
    More swift than beams of light.


            He Gives What He Won to the Indian Girl

    I panted in the grassy wood;
    I kissed the Indian Maid
    As she took my wings from me:
    With all the grace I could
    I gave two throbbing bells to her
    From the foot of the Laughing Tree.
    And one she pressed to her golden breast
    And one, gave back to me.

    From Lilies of the valley -
    See them fade.
    From poppy-blooms all frayed,
    From dandelions gray with care,
    From pansy-faces, worn and torn,
    From morning-glories -
    See them fade -
    From all things fragile, faint and fair
    Are the Wings of the Morning made!