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! | 5 |
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, | 10 |
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, | 15 |
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, | 20 |
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, | 25 |
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! | |
How it swells! | |
How it dwells | |
On the Future! how it tells | |
Of the rapture that impels | 30 |
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! | 35 |
|
Hear the loud 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! | 40 |
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 expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, | 45 |
Leaping higher, higher, higher, | |
With a desperate desire, | |
And a resolute endeavor | |
Now—now to sit or never, | |
By the side of the pale-faced moon. | 50 |
Oh, the bells, bells, bells! | |
What a tale their terror tells | |
Of Despair! | |
|
How they clang, and clash, and roar! | |
What a horror they outpour | 55 |
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; | 60 |
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 the bells, | 65 |
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, | 70 |
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 tone! | 75 |
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, | 80 |
All alone, | |
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, | |
In that muffled monotone, | |
Feel a glory in so rolling | |
On the human heart a stone— | 85 |
They are 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, | 90 |
Rolls | |
A pæan from the bells; | |
And his merry bosom swells | |
With the pæan of the bells, | |
And he dances, and he yells: | 95 |
Keeping time, time, time, | |
In a sort of Runic rhyme, | |
To the pæan of the bells, | |
Of the bells: | |
Keeping time, time, time, | 100 |
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, | 105 |
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, | 110 |
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, | |
Bells, bells, bells— | |
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
| The Naming of Cats | | by T.S. Eliot |
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter, It isn't just one of your holiday games; You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES. First of all, there's the name that the family use daily, Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James, Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey-- All of them sensible everyday names. There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter, Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames: Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter-- But all of them sensible everyday names. But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular, A name that's peculiar, and more dignified, Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular, Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride? Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum, Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat, Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum- Names that never belong to more than one cat. But above and beyond there's still one name left over, And that is the name that you never will guess; The name that no human research can discover-- But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess. When you notice a cat in profound meditation, The reason, I tell you, is always the same: His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name: His ineffable effable Effanineffable Deep and inscrutable singular Name.
| To a Poor Old Woman | | by William Carlos Williams |
| munching a plum on
the street a paper bag
of them in her hand
They taste good to her
They taste good
to her. They taste
good to her
You can see it by
the way she gives herself
to the one half
sucked out in her hand
Comforted
a solace of ripe plums
seeming to fill the air
They taste good to her
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