richard mitchley - written on a summer evening - john keats lyrics
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the church bells toll a melancholy round
calling the people to some other prayers
some other gloominess, more dreadful cares
more harkening to the sermon’s horrid sound
surely the mind of man is closely bound
in some blind spell: seeing that each one tears
himself from fireside joys and lydian airs
and converse high of those with glory crowned
still, still they toll, and i should feel a damp
a chill as from a tomb, did i not know
that they are dying like an outburnt lamp, +
that ’tis their sighing, wailing, ere they go
into oblivion +that fresh flowers will grow
and many glories of immortal stamp
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