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Rh

When drowsy bees go loitering, And butterflies are on the wing, Dost beat the merry music out, And swell the rhythm of the rout? Dost ever some faint message sound For all the wee folk of the ground, Of those far mysteries that lie Beyond their ken in earth and sky?

Keep thou thy silence, fairy bell, Thou art no less a miracle; No less a rapture thou dost bring Because we cannot hear thee ring; For they who give attentive ear Must catch thy silvery cadence clear, And know a joy no language tells, When in the heart there sings and swells The music of thy magic bells.