The Foxglove bells, a poem By : Mary Webb
The Foxglove bells
By : Mary Webb
The foxglove bells, with lolling tongue,
Will not reveal what peals were rung
In Faery, in Faery,
A thousand ages gone.
All the golden clappers hang
As if but now the changes rang;
Only from the mottled throat
Never any echoes float.
Quite forgotten, in the wood,
Pale, crowded steeples rise;
All the time that they have stood
None has heard their melodies.
Deep, deep in wizardry
All the foxglove belfries stand.
Should they startle over the land,
None would know what bells they be.
Never any wind can ring them,
Nor the great black bees that swing them–
Every crimson bell, down-slanted,
Is so utterly enchanted.
Nigel Borrington 
😀
June 19, 2014 at 2:59 pm
Thank you Herman 🙂 🙂 🙂
June 20, 2014 at 7:14 pm
😉
June 21, 2014 at 8:30 am
Such a perfect photograph to accompany this lovely poem.
June 19, 2014 at 3:16 pm
Hello 🙂 🙂
Thank you very pleased you enjoyed 🙂 🙂
June 20, 2014 at 7:15 pm
So gifted you are, Nigel. 🙂
June 20, 2014 at 9:17 pm
Great image!
June 19, 2014 at 9:43 pm
Thank you Simon 🙂 🙂
June 20, 2014 at 7:16 pm
Wonderful photography ! – unsurprisingly … 🙂
June 19, 2014 at 11:07 pm
Hello Margaret 🙂 🙂
Thank you !!!!!!
June 20, 2014 at 7:16 pm