poem by John Betjeman from 'Faith and Doubt'
Your peal of ten ring over this town
Ring on my men or ever ring them down,
This winter chill, let sunset spill cold fire
On villa'd hill and on Sir Gilbert's spire,
So new, so high, so pure, so broached, so tall.
Long run the thunder of the bells through all!
Oh still white headstones on these fields of sound
Hear you the wedding joy bells wheeling round?
On brick built breeding boxes of new souls,
Hear how the pealing through the louvres rolls!
Now birth and death reminding bells ring clear,
Loud under 'planes and over changing gear.