’The bells your father loved you needs must hear,
  Seek Oxford next with me,’ and told the day. 
’Upon the bridge I’ll meet you.  What! how dear
  Soever was a dream, shall it bear sway
To mar the waking?’
                      I set forth, drew near,
  Beheld a goodly tower, twin churches grey,
Evesham.  The bridge, and noon.  I nothing knew
What to my heart that fateful chime would do.

For suddenly the sweet bells overcame
  A world unsouled; did all with man endow;
His yearning almost tell that passeth name
  And said they were full old, and they were now
And should be; and their sighing upon the same
  For our poor sake that pass they did avow,
While on clear Avon flowed like man’s short day
The shining river of life lapsing away.

The stroke of noon.  The bell-bird! yes and no. 
  Winds of remembrance swept as over the foam
Of anti-natal shores.  At home is it so,
  My country folk?  Ay, ’neath this pale blue dome,
Many of you in the moss lie low—­lie low. 
  Ah! since I have not HER, give me too, home. 
A footstep near!  I turned; past likelihood,
Past hope, before me on the bridge—­SHE STOOD.

A rosy urchin had her hand; this cried,
  ’We think you are our cousin—­yes, you are;
I said so to Estelle.’  The violet-eyed,
  ‘If this be Geoffrey?’ asked; and as from far
A doubt came floating up; but she denied
  Her thought, yet blushed.  O beautiful! my Star! 
Then, with the lifting of my hat, each wore
That look which owned to each, ‘We have met before.’

Then was the strangest bliss in life made mine;
  I saw the almost worshipped—­all remote;
The Star so high above that used to shine,
  Translated from the void where it did float,
And brought into relation with the fine
  Charities earth hath grown.  A great joy smote
Me silent, and the child atween us tway,
We watched the lucent river stealing away.

While her deep eyes down on the ripple fell,
  Quoth the small imp, ’"How fast you go and go,
You Avon.  Does it wish to stop, Estelle,
  And hear the clock, and see the orchards blow?
It does not care! Not when the old big bell
  Makes a great buzzing noise?—­Who told you so?”
And then to me, “I like to hear it hum. 
Why do you think that father could not come?”

Estelle forgot her violin.  And he,
  O then he said:  “How careless, child, of you;
I must send on for it.  ’T would pity be
  If that were lost. 
                      I want to learn it too;
And when I’m nine I shall.” 
                              Then turning, she
  Let her sweet eyes unveil them to my view;
Her stately grace outmatched my dream of old,
But ah! the smile dull memory had not told.