Summer Sunday

Borne on the low lake wind there floats to me,
Out of the distant hill, a sigh of bells,
Mystic, worshipful, almost unheard,
As tho’ the past should answer me,—and I
In pagan solitude bow down my head.

From Child of the Amazons, and other poems (New York & London, Mitchell Kennerley, 1913) by Max Eastman. Copyright © Mitchell Kennerly. This poem is in the public domain.