Words That Burn

Bell Tower, by Leonie Adams (1899-1988)

 

I have seen, O desolate one, the voice has its tower,

The voice also, builded at secret cost,

In temple of precious tissue. Not silent then

Forever – casting silence in your hour.

 

There marble boys are leant from the light throat,

Thick locks that hang with dew and eyes dewlashed,

Dazzled with morning, angels of the wind,

With ear a-point to the enchanted note.

 

And these at length shall tip the hanging bell,

And first the sound must gather in deep bronze,

Till, rarer than ice, purer than a bubble of gold,

It fill the sky to beat on an airy shell.