Down The Hall Poem by Thomas Noel Smith

Walking down the well-walked halls
In flowing garb of midnight black
Staying close to the silent walls
With wondering reverent eyes

She did not look to see my face
But as she passed
She knew we passed
But her holy eyes were devoutly fast
On the piece of wood
Around her neck

The bells are ringing beyond my sight
But not beyond my hearing
A flurry of black-clothed ladies
Floating silently
Silently down hallways
Floating on cloud-like feet
Disappearing as quickly
As they had come
Like ghosts that haunt forever.

The bells are ringing
With one voice.

Ring the bells for people
Ring for their souls
Ring for their ghosts
Ring the bells for the pictures on the walls.
That keep silent vigil in the halls.

The flowing habit
Comes down the hall again.
I see her eyes
They now meet mine.
Smile. She smiles
Not a word is spoken
She touches the wood
About her neck
And she and the wood
Become as one
As she walks in quiet reverence
Down the hall
Floating, floating
Down the hall

Bells ring
Bells sound
Summoning, commanding

I see them come
One and all
I watch them go.
The aspiring angels.

From the wall on which I hang
My painted eyes see all,
From my framed perch in the silent hall

They see my eyes
And I look back
I see them go
Ladies in black
Down the hall.