Poems (Hoffman)/Abutilon Bells

by Martha Lavinia Hoffman

ABUTILON BELLS

Ring little bells from your leafy towers,
Ring for the fairies, ring for the flowers,
 Ring for the sad and gay;
Never a sound from your belfry near,
Borne on the frolicking breeze I hear,
 Yet I dream that a tiny fay
Lightly leans from the stem of a leaf,
And the chime of joy and the toll of grief,
 And danger's stirring knells,
Are heard by the bright geraniums,
By the heliotropes, daisies and cyclamens,
 From your little swinging bells.

Ring little pink bells in the showers,
Ring for the revelry of the flowers,
 In the growing time of Spring;
For the fuchsias in their stately halls
Are robed for the fairies' moonlight balls,
 Where the merriest crickets sing;
And the pansies' dewy faces glow
With the fresh young life in their roots below,
 And sipping their dew-drop wine,
The butterfly is the sweet pea's guest,
And the bumble-bee in his Sunday best
 Sits down with the rose to dine.

Chime little golden bells your strain,
For the primrose sweet in her fringed white train
 Is the bride of the tuberose tall;
The hyacinths stand by the tuberose's side,
And the pink primroses wait by the bride,
 And the cactus lists your call;
And the lofty calla stands in state,
At the nuptials gay, to officiate,
 And the march æolian swells,
And the proud narcissus bows and bends,
And all the hosts of the flowery friends
 Rejoice with the golden bells.

Clang little red bells, lightly swung,
Ring what larger bells have rung,
 Danger's swift alarm;
For old Jack Frost in his armor cold
Is coming to-night with his armies bold,
 And he brings but death and harm.
O loveliest, frailest, tenderest,
You will he have though he spare the rest;
 List to the timely knell,
Come in from the threatening, frosty air;
Let the light of the coming morn declare,
 What the stricken cannot tell!

Toll little white bells, to and fro,
Sadly and slow, softly and low,
 Clappers of purest gold;
For the ghosts of dead blossoms are everywhere,
The beautiful and sweet and fair,
 The icy shrouds enfold,
Like a fragment bright of the vanished Spring
Is the greenhouse warm, where your bright bells ring
 From your little leafy towers,
Where safely kept from the frost and cold,
Through the cheerless winter the buds unfold,
 Of the tender, tropical flowers.