I've always thought I loved poetry. I enjoy writing it, and I had a vision of it in my mind, but when I read some poems from a book called
A Little Treasury of Favorite Poems I started to think that maybe I didn't... Until I came by
The Bells, by Edgar A. Poe. It's not meaningful, or anything, but it's absolutely cute and rolls of the tongue and tinkles and shines and I absolutely loved it, even though it's a little silly. I thought I'd post it... oh, and if you do try to read it, read it out loud, since it's so much more enjoyable that way.
Hear the sledges with the bells,--
Silver bells--
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells,
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Hear the mellow wedding-bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight
From the molten, golden notes!
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats,
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats,
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously well!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Hear the alarum bells--
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expolstumlation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping hire, hire, hire,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now--now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon,
Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale of their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang, and clash and roar
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of bells--
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
Hear the tolling of the bells--
Iron bells--
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats,
Is a groan:
And the people--ah, the people--
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone--
They neither man nor woman--
They are neither brute nor human--
They are Ghouls!
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls a paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And and dances and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells,
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells, --
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells, --
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
