POETRY.

Evening Post, Volume LXVII, Issue 132, 4 June 1904, Page 11

POETRY.

THE SOUND OF BELLS. Sud. i« the sound of bells— I would lie de.v, that I might nover hear The ringing of the bell*, though glad and clear ; I w oukl bo dead, that never heart of me Might stir und throb at their full throated glee. Sad is the sound of bells! Sad is the sound of bells — And sadder far tho story that they tell: The day was dying and tho grey mists fell Across the haven underneath my feet, There came the song of bells full, low and sweet. Oh, sad the sound of bella! Sad is tho sound of bells — \Vo stood alone between the sea and sky, And now alone forovermoro am I, Her little love, so shallow, soon was spent, And to tho sound of joyous bells sho went. Oh, sad the sound of bolls! — Walter E. Grogan, in the New York Tribune. SPRING. "For ever, whenever the springtime Halts by th« open door, The heart-sick are healed in the sunshine, \ The sorry are sad no more. Something brighter than morning Washes the window pane; Something wif-er than knowledge Sits by tho hearth again. Within him tho sweet disquiet, Before him the old dismny, When tho hand of Beauty beckons The wayfarer must away." — Bliss Carman.