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 Ev'ry crimson bell, down-slanted, Is so utterly enchanted. The foxglove bells, with lolling tongue, Will not reveal what peals were rung In Faery, in Faery, A thousand ages gone.
- by Mary Gladys Meredith Webb (1881 - 1927), "Foxgloves", appears in Poems and The Spring of Joy, first published 1928 [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Michael (Dewar) Head (1900 - 1976), "Foxgloves", 1932, published 1933 [voice and piano or string quartet], from More Songs of the Countryside, no. 1. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]