what's o'clock
105
Scuffing his naked feet in the thick dust
Poured from the mouldering beams by the bells' jar,
Sorting his pleasure from old heaps of thoughts.
Below his garret, stairs and stairs below,
Men skinned their fingers tugging at the ropes
That swung the clappers of the chiming bells.
No kith nor kin to Neron, these; his bones
Were liker to the shafts and traceries
And gargoyled gutters shining on the town
In twitched and twisted angles. Neron paid
No least attention to them, nor the church
Which harboured him; and yet it was a jewel,
A very rose of Gothic merriment,
Blooming symbolic beasts on every arch
And sprouting columns like a Summer wood.
All up and down were flights of spiral stairs,
Contrived within the hollow core of walls,
Leading to chambers of hewn stone, and lofts
Where slits for windows pierced the granite blocks
Poured from the mouldering beams by the bells' jar,
Sorting his pleasure from old heaps of thoughts.
Below his garret, stairs and stairs below,
Men skinned their fingers tugging at the ropes
That swung the clappers of the chiming bells.
No kith nor kin to Neron, these; his bones
Were liker to the shafts and traceries
And gargoyled gutters shining on the town
In twitched and twisted angles. Neron paid
No least attention to them, nor the church
Which harboured him; and yet it was a jewel,
A very rose of Gothic merriment,
Blooming symbolic beasts on every arch
And sprouting columns like a Summer wood.
All up and down were flights of spiral stairs,
Contrived within the hollow core of walls,
Leading to chambers of hewn stone, and lofts
Where slits for windows pierced the granite blocks
