On the Belgian Expatriation

I dreamt that people from the Land of Chimes

Arrived one autumn morning with their bells,

To hoist them on the towers and citadels

Of my own country, that the musical rhymes

Rung by them into space at meted times

Amid the market's daily stir and stress,

And the night's empty star-lit silentness,

Might solace souls of this and kindred climes.

Then I awoke; and lo, before me stood

The visioned ones, but pale and full of fear;

From Bruges they came, and Antwerp, and Ostend,

No carillons in their train. Foes of mad mood

Had shattered these to shards amid the gear

Of ravaged roof, and smouldering gable-end.