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Bells of St. Peter Mancroft

by Francis Webb

Gay golden volleys of banter
Bombard the clockwork grief;
A frisson of gold at the centre
Of prayer, bright core of life.

Who knew the old lofty tower,
The ancient holy eye,
To come open like a flower
To roll and wink with joy?

Townspeople, who wear
shrewd colours and know the move,
Now blunder and wander, I swear,
In a transport of love.

And the belfry, hale and blest:
Picture the jolly hand
Milking each swinging breast
Of its laughing golden sound.


(This poem appears by kind permission of Claudia Snell.)







Norfolk Poems




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