A PASSING BELL
D. H. Lawrence
MOURNFULLY to and fro, to and fro the trees are
waving;
_What did you say, my dear?_
The rain-bruised leaves are suddenly shaken, as a
child
Asleep still shakes in the clutch of a sob--
_Yes, my love, I hear._
One lonely bell, one only, the storm-tossed afternoon
is braving,
_Why not let it ring?_
The roses lean down when they hear it, the tender,
mild
Flowers of the bleeding-heart fall to the throb--
_It is such a little thing!_
A wet bird walks on the lawn, call to the boy to come
and look,
_Yes, it is over now._
Call to him out of the silence, call him to see
The starling shaking its head as it walks in the
grass--
_Ah, who knows how?_
He cannot see it, I can never show it him, how it
shook--
_Don't disturb him, darling._
--Its head as it walked: I can never call him to me,
Never, he _is_ not, whatever shall come to pass.
_No, look at the wet starling._