Four Poems by Alice Meynell

Brief on a flying night,
  From the shaken tower,
A flock of bells take flight,
  And go with the hour.
 
Like birds from the cote to the gales,
  Abrupt -- oh, hark! -- 
A fleet of bells set sails,
  And go to the dark.
 
Sudden the cold airs swing:
  Alone, aloud,
A verse of bells takes wing
  And flies with the cloud.

I must not think of thee; and, tired [yet]1 strong,
  I shun the [love]2 that lurks in all delight --
  The [love]3 of thee -- [and]4 in the blue heaven's height,
[And]4 in the [dearest]5 passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the [sweetest]3 thoughts that throng
  This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright;
  But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
  When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away, --
  With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gather'd to thy heart.

A flock of winds came winging from the North,
Strong birds with fighting pinions driving forth
      With a resounding call: -- 
 
Where will they close their wings and cease their cries -- 
Between what warming seas and conquering skies -- 
      And fold, and fall?

      Behold, 
The time is now! Bring back, bring back 
Thy flocks of fancies, wild of whim. 
O lead them from the mountain-track 
      Thy frolic thoughts untold. 
O bring them in -- the fields grow dim --
      And let me be the fold!
 
      Behold, 
The time is now! Call in, O call 
Thy pasturing kisses gone astray 
For scattered sweets; gather them all 
      To shelter from the cold. 
Throng them together, close and gay, 
      And let me be the fold!