The Hand-Bell Ringers
Grim, solemn figures, all in a row.
Intent on the carol they ring;
But I see no less i' the pane aglow
The flowers reflected, and to and fro
The flames their flicker fling.
My ribbon breast-knot dances across
The leader's solemn brow;
The moony lamps burn low i' the moss;
And my own pale face, as it seems, they toss.
With the ringing hand-bells now.
So dark is the night, so dark, alas!
I look on the world, no doubt;
Yet I see no less i' the window-glass,
The room within than the trees and grass
And men I would study without.
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