He Climbs the Hill Where the Tree Grows

On -         Thro' the gleaming gray         I ran to the storm and clang -         To the red, red hill where the great tree swayed -         And scattered bells like autumn leaves.         How the red bells rang!         My breath within my breast         Was held like a diver's breath -         The leaves were tangled locks of gray -         The boughs of the tree were white and gray,         Shaped like scythes of Death.         The boughs of the tree would sweep and sway -         Sway like scythes of Death.         But it was beautiful!         I knew that all was well.         A thousand bells from a thousand boughs         Each moment bloomed and fell.         On the hill of the wind-swept tree         There were no bells asleep;         They sang beneath my trailing wings         Like rivers sweet and steep.         Deep rock-clefts before my feet         Mighty chimes did keep         And little choirs did keep.                 He Receives the Bells                  Honeyed, small and fair,                  Like flowers, in flowery lands -                  Like little maidens' hands -                  Two bells fell in my hair,                  Two bells caressed my hair.                  I pressed them to my purple lips                  In the strangling Chaos-air.                 He Starts on the Return Journey         On desperate wings and strong,         Two bells within my breast,         I breathed again, I breathed again -         West of the Universe -         West of the skies of the West.         Into the black toward home,         And never a star in sight,         By Faith that is blind I took my way         With my two bosomed blossoms gay         Till a speck in the East was the Milky way:         Till starlit was the night.         And the bells had quenched all memory -         All hope -         All borrowed sorrow:         I had no thirst for yesterday,         No thought for to-morrow.         Like hearts within my breast         The bells would throb to me         And drown the siren stars         That sang enticingly;         My heart became a bell -         Three bells were in my breast,         Three hearts to comfort me.         We reached the daytime happily -         We reached the earth with glee.         In an hour, in an hour it was done!         The wings in their morning flight         Were a thousand times ten thousand times         More swift than beams of light.                 He Gives What He Won to the Indian Girl         I panted in the grassy wood;         I kissed the Indian Maid         As she took my wings from me:         With all the grace I could         I gave two throbbing bells to her         From the foot of the Laughing Tree.         And one she pressed to her golden breast         And one, gave back to me.         From Lilies of the valley -         See them fade.         From poppy-blooms all frayed,         From dandelions gray with care,         From pansy-faces, worn and torn,         From morning-glories -         See them fade -         From all things fragile, faint and fair         Are the Wings of the Morning made!