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 though the past should answer me, and I
In pagan solitude bow down my head.
Footnote
1 This statement is borne out by Mr. William Morrison Patterson’s account of the records of Amy Lowell’s reading of her poems in his laboratory. It constitutes the preface of the second edition of his book, “The Rhythm of Prose”—a book which, upon the true basis of experimentation, analyzes and defines convincingly for the first time the nature of rhythmical experience, and the manner in which it is derived by the reader both from prose and metrical poetry. Until it is amplified or improved by further investigation, this book will surely be the basis of every scientific discussion of the questions involved here.
Epigraph
Punctuation has been corrected without note.