Bells in the High Tower

Bells in the high tower, ringing o’er the white hills,

mocking the winter, singing like the spring rills;

bells in the high tower, in the cold foretelling

the spring’s upwelling.

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Bells in the old tower, like the summer chatter

from darting bright birds, as the grapes turn redder;

bells in the old tower, now the wine is brimming,

new life beginning.

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Bells in the stone tower, echoing the soft sound

of autumn’s mill wheel, as the wheat is spun round;

bells in the stone tower, see, the bread is yeasting

for time of feasting.

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Bells in the cold tower, ‘midst the snow of winter

sound out the spring song that we may remember;

bells in the cold tower, after the long snowing

come months of growing.