One morn or nightstand
When the leaves are ripe enough,
Comes jingling the inevitable band
Gayest on course,soul plough
Who will flight the bell's hand?

When on slumber or any when chimes
And the bell's creed is exclusive patent
Even the mass is crowd and time
Nay; i say,would both meant
Who will flight the bell's time?

Every spirit is nothing but an ewe
Soft in bell's clang to strangle
When the leaves are yellow to few
And the bell's rung mourn winkles
Who will flight the evening bell's hew?.