AS once in a town thro’ the twilight pleasant
A belfry chorus majestic rose,
While our talk ran on, and the good lamp glistened,
And nothing you recked, rapt soul! but listened,
And followed on truant wing incessant
After the chime to its silvern close;
So later, when over your gentle pages,
The harsh world wronged you with scorn and sting,
By the far-away joy in your blue eye growing,
I knew that beyond these ill winds blowing,
You heard, my Poet! the praise of the ages;
Only and ever you heard them sing.