Creepy Poem #1: The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe

I thought I would share a few of my favorite creepy poems for Halloween. This is going to be a four part series, so keep an eye out for it! Today is a poem by Edgar Allan Poe. Hope you enjoy!

The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe

I.

               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.

II.

               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 euphonyvoluminously wells !
                     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

III.

               Hear the loud alarum bells —
                         Brazen bells !
What 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 expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
                  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.
                  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
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 the bells —
                  Of the bells —
      Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
              Bells, bells, bells —
   In the clamour and the clangour of the bells !

IV.

               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 meaning of 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 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, rolls,
                     Rolls
                A pæan from the bells !
            And his merry bosom swells
                With the pæan of the bells !
            And he dances, and he yells ;
        Keeping time, time, time,
        In a sort of Runic rhyme,
                To the pæan of the bells —
                     Of the bells :
        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.

The Complete Collection of Edgar Allan Poe.

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