Drawing details in an old church

Lyrics

I hear the bell-rope sawing, And the oil-less axle grind, As I sit alone here drawing What some Gothic brain designed; And I catch the toll that follows        &nbsp From the lagging bell, Ere it spreads to hills and hollows Where the parish people dwell. I ask not whom it tolls for, Incurious who he be; So, some morrow, when those knolls for One unguessed, sound out for me, A stranger, loitering under        &nbsp In nave or choir, May think, too, "Whose, I wonder?" But care not to inquire.