How sweet art thoú and the trees in the mist
Where we haveth sitted, with birds that sing,
Creeping and sobbing, soft runic music,
Claging and twanking in sweet melody.
Sit, thoú sit, how my hands reaches heaven
The angel's euphony in the balmy air,
Hark! In tortuous notes, where it foretells;
The bells tintinabulation—mellow,
No torbulency in clamorous nights;
No expostulation—the bosom dire;
The cherubims that God cursed.
The heavens and hell chant the monody,
The heart is throbbing with the alarum.
And, when the bells rang;
Is when the brutes shiver,
And how the evils moan,
Is how the monarch speak;
And so, the empire gloat.
Enjoy! Thank you!
©keilyyy
K