"Look! Lift up your eyes!"   The clapper shook to song. 

   The iron clapper laughed aloud, Like clashing wind and wave; The bell cried out "Be strong and proud!"   Then, with a shout, "Be brave!" 

   The rumbling of the market-carts, The pounding of men's feet Were drowned in song; "Lift up your hearts!"   The sound was loud and sweet. 

   Slow and slow the great bell swung, It hung in the steeple mute; And people tore its living tongue Out by the very root. 

    A CROWDED TROLLEY CAR 

   The rain's cold grains are silver-gray Sharp as golden sands, A bell is clanging, people sway Hanging by their hands. 

   Supple hands, or gnarled and stiff, Snatch and catch and grope; That face is yellow-pale, as if The fellow swung from rope. 

   Dull like pebbles, sharp like knives, Glances strike and glare, Fingers tangle, Bluebeard's wives Dangle by the hair. 

   Orchard of the strangest fruits Hanging from the skies; Brothers, yet insensate brutes Who fear each others' eyes. 

   One man stands as free men stand, As if his soul might be Brave, unbroken; see his hand Nailed to an oaken tree. 

    BELLS IN THE RAIN 

   Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain, Upon the steep cliffs of the town. Sleep falls; men are at peace again Awhile the small drops fall softly down. 

   The bright drops ring like bells of glass Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown; Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass So softly as it falls on stone. 

   Peace falls unheeded on the dead   Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink; Upon a live man's bloody head It falls most tenderly, I think. 

    WINTER SLEEP 

   When against earth a wooden heel Clicks as loud as stone and steel, When snow turns flour instead of flakes, And frost bakes clay as fire bakes, When the hard-bitten fields at last Crack like iron flawed in the cast, When the world is wicked and cross and old, I long to be quit of the cruel cold. 

   Little birds like bubbles of glass Fly to other Americas, Birds as bright as sparkles of wine Fly in 

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