Bells of St Peter Mancroft

Gay golden volleys of banter

Bombard the clockwork grief;

A frisson of gold at the centre

Of prayer, bright core of life.

Who knew the old lofty tower,

The ancient holy eye,

To come open like a flower,

To roll and wink with joy?

Townspeople, who wear

Shrewd colours and know the move,

Now blunder and wander, I swear,

In a transport of love.

And the belfry, hale and blest:

Picture the jolly hand

Milking each swinging breast

Of its laughing golden sound.