The Bells by Edgar Allen Poe
I Yet the ear, it fully knows,
HEAR the sledges with the bells -- By the twanging,
Silver bells ! And the clanging,
What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! How the danger ebbs and flows ;
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, Yet, the ear distinctly tells,
In the icy air of night ! In the jangling,
While the stars that oversprinkle And the wrangling,
All the heavens, seem to twinkle How the danger sinks and swells,
With a crystalline delight ; By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells --
Keeping time, time, time, Of the bells --
In a sort of Runic rhyme, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells Bells, bells, bells --
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, In the clamour and the clangour of the bells !
Bells, bells, bells --
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. IV.
Hear the tolling of the bells --
II. Iron bells !
Hear the mellow wedding bells What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !
Golden bells! In the silence of the night,
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! How we shiver with affright
Through the balmy air of night At the melancholy meaning of their tone !
How they ring out their delight ! For every sound that floats
From the molten-golden notes, From the rust within their throats
And all in tune, Is a groan.
What a liquid ditty floats And the people -- ah, the people --
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats They that dwell up in the steeple,
On the moon ! All alone,
Oh, from out the sounding cells, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! In that muffled monotone,
How it swells ! Feel a glory in so rolling
How it dwells On the human heart a stone --
On the Future ! how it tells They are neither man nor woman --
Of the rapture that impels They are neither brute nor human --
To the swinging and the ringing They are Ghouls: --
Of the bells, bells, bells, And their king it is who tolls ;
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
Bells, bells, bells -- Rolls
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! A pæan from the bells !
And his merry bosom swells
III. With the pæan of the bells !
Hear the loud alarum bells -- And he dances, and he yells ;
Brazen bells ! Keeping time, time, time,
What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! In a sort of Runic rhyme,
In the startled ear of night To the pæan of the bells --
How they scream out their affright ! Of the bells :
Too much horrified to speak, Keeping time, time, time,
They can only shriek, shriek, In a sort of Runic rhyme,
Out of tune, To the throbbing of the bells --
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, Of the bells, bells, bells --
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, To the sobbing of the bells ;
Leaping higher, higher, higher, Keeping time, time, time,
With a desperate desire, As he knells, knells, knells,
And a resolute endeavor In a happy Runic rhyme,
Now -- now to sit or never, To the rolling of the bells --
By the side of the pale-faced moon. Of the bells, bells, bells --
Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! To the tolling of the bells,
What a tale their terror tells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells --
Of Despair ! Bells, bells, bells --
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air !