The garden's full of scented wallflowers, And, save that these stir faintly, nothing stirs; Only a distant bell in hollow chime Cried out just now for far-forgoten time, And three reverberate words the great bell spoke. The knocker's made of brass, the door of oak, And such a clamor must be loosed on air By the knocker's blow that knock I do not dare. The silence is a spell, and if it break,
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More info about the poet: Elinor Morton Wylie - references bibliography