Edgar A. Poe/Phil Ochs
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,
All the heavens seem to twinkle with a crystalline delight,
Keeping time, time, time with a sort of Runic rhyme,
From 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,
Through the dances and the yells and the rapture that impels.
How it swells, how it dwells, on the future how it tells,
From the swinging and the ringing of the molten golden bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells,
Of the rhyming and the chiming of the bells.
Hear the loud alarum bells, brazen bells,
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells.
Much too horrified to speak. Oh, they can only shriek
For all the ears to know how the danger ebbs and flows,
Leaping higher, higher, higher with a desperate desire,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
With the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells,
With the clamor and the clanging of the bells.
Hear the tolling of the bells, iron bells,
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels
For all the sound that floats from the rust within our throats
And the people sit and groan in their muffled monotone
And the tolling, tolling, tolling feels a glory in the rolling,
From the throbbing and the sobbing of the melancholy bells,
Oh, the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells,
Oh, the moaning and the groaning of the bells.