The bells in the tower are tolling slowly,
Deep as oceans, mournful, holy,
Striking a furtive chord of fear,
The final chord mortal man will hear.
Stories that words will never tell
Are told in the mystic toll of the bell,
The iron bell in the silent room,
With solemn strokes like the strokes of doom.
The bells ring out through the pounding rain
With brazen knells like cries of pain,
Haunting both nightmares and waking dreams
With the crash of thunder that drowns the screams.
Soft in the twilight the vespers ring,
While below in the darkness the choirs sing;
The candlelight trembles; the organ swells
To the steady dirge of the weeping bells.
The silver bells whisper and warble and chime
Measure by measure, counting the time
Till the echoes are dying along with the light,
And the final peal is lost in the night.
And I know exactly what you mean, when you write something that feels like pure genius but is somehow overlooked by everyone! Grrrrrrrr.