I have a dream that visits me
Whenever I am all alone.
The image is a simple one:
A dark hillside of pitching slope
Contrast against a waning moon
That casts dim shadows on the ground
To creep across the murmuring fields
And silence every one.
Upon that hillside stands a tower,
No light escapes its sombre form
And yet I know what hangs within:
A single bell with plaited rope
And tone of melancholy mood
Suspended from a wooden beam
Carved by hands unknown, unseen,
With marvellous calligraphy.
What moves that bell to ring its song
Is not to be revealed to me
And yet I know the call will come;
A tolling of my soul’s heartbeat,
A tolling when the day is done,
When all will end and I will see,
With terrifying clarity,
The measure of my lifetime’s sum.
