The clapper hovers, but why run so hard?

What he wants, has,—more than will make him ease;

No god calls down,—he’s not been on his knees

This man, for years, and he is off his guard.

What then does he dream of

Sweating through day?—Surviving love.

Cold he knows he comes, once to the dark,

All that waste of cold, leaving all cold

Behind him hearts, forgotten when he’s tolled,

His books are split and sold, the pencil mark

He made erased, his wife

Gone brave and quick to her new life.

And so he spins to find out something warm

To think on when the glaze fastens his eyes

And he begins to freeze. He slows and tries

To hear a promise: ‘After, after your storm

I will grieve and remember,

Miss you and be warm and remember.’

But really nothing replies to the poor man,

He never hears this, or the voice he hears

(He thinks) he loses ah when next appears

The hood of the bell, seeing which he began.

His skull rings with his end,

He runs on, love for love.