Chimes: Alice Meynell

Brief, on a flying night,
From the shaken tower,
A flock of bells take flight,
And go with the hour.
Like birds from the cote to the gales,
Abrupt—O hark!
A fleet of bells set sails,
And go to the dark.
Sudden the cold airs swing,
Alone, aloud,
A verse of bells takes wing
And flies with the cloud.
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The Letter: Charlotte Brontë

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To S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works: Phillis Wheatley