A New Favourite Word and a New Favourite Poem

I have a new favourite word:

Tintinnabulation

Isn't that delicious?  I have been muttering it to myself as I walk around the house just to hear it again and again.  Yeah... I'm weird like that!  ^_^

I came across the word in my New Favourite Poem and it means the sound of bells.  I just love it.  :D

Anyway, you are probably curious as to what my New Favourite Poem is.

*Drum roll*

It is Edgar Allen Poe's The Bells.  If you have not read any poetry by Poe, then you are sadly missing out.  He had such a way with words, rhythm and rhyme and The Bells in particular is a work of pure brilliance.  I have posted it below, but before you read it, you have to promise not to just read it - you have to say it aloud.  The reason is that the way Poe wrote the poem is that as more and more bells are added to the description, the rhythm gets faster and more repetitive, just like the clamour of dozens of bells all ringing at the same time.   The last stanza is where I get really excited.  (Once again... I'm weird like that!  :P)

I hope you enjoy it  as much as I do.  :)

The Bells by Edgar Allen 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 euphony voluminously 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 of the bells!

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.