AN August Sunday in town,
The Park all sere and brown,
The noise of wheels died down.

Faint tepid breezes wake
Now and again, and make
Lee's slatted curtains shake.

Now and again in the street
The sound of passing feet,
And church bells, faint and sweet.

Faint bells that ought to mean
A village spire seen
Across a meadow green.

Faint bells. . . Wayne's early youth. . . .
Going to church. . . in truth
Going to church with Ruth.

Faint bells, and Lee cries, "Oh,
How I should like to know
Why bells depress me so!"