Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE BELLS, by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: When o'er the street the morning peal is flung Last Line: The passing breath that holds thy passion's sway. Subject(s): Bells | ||||||||
WHEN o'er the street the morning peal is flung From yon tall belfry with the brazen tongue, Its wide vibrations, wafted by the gale, To each far listener tell a different tale. The sexton, stooping to the quivering floor Till the great caldron spills its brassy roar, Whirls the hot axle, counting, one by one, Each dull concussion, till his task is done. Toil's patient daughter, when the welcome note Clangs through the silence from the steeple's throat, Streams, a white unit, to the checkered street, Demure, but guessing whom she soon shall meet; The bell, responsive to her secret flame, With every note repeats her lover's name. The lover, tenant of the neighboring lane, Sighing, and fearing lest he sigh in vain, Hears the stern accents, as they come and go, Their only burden one despairing No! Ocean's rough child, whom many a shore has known Ere homeward breezes swept him to his own, Starts at the echo as it circles round, A thousand memories kindling with the sound; The early favorite's unforgotten charms, Whose blue initials stain his tawny arms; His first farewell, the flapping canvas spread, The seaward streamers crackling overhead, His kind, pale mother, not ashamed to weep Her first-born's bridal with the haggard deep, While the brave father stood with tearless eye, Smiling and choking with his last good-by. 'T is but a wave, whose spreading circle beats, With the same impulse, every nerve it meets, Yet who shall count the varied shapes that ride On the round surge of that aerial tide! O child of earth! If floating sounds like these Steal from thyself their power to wound or please, If here or there thy changing will inclines, As the bright zodiac shifts its rolling signs, Look at thy heart, and when its depths are known, Then try thy brother's, judging by thine own, But keep thy wisdom to the narrower range, While its own standards are the sport of change, Nor count us rebels when we disobey The passing breath that holds thy passion's sway. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUR BETWEEN DOG AND WOLF: 3. FEEDING THE RABBITS by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR THE HOUR BETWEEN DOG AND WOLF: 4. THE HOUR BETWEEN DOG by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR THE HOURS; FOR INGRID ERHARDT, 1951-1971 by NORMAN DUBIE SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: J. MILTON MILES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE SPIRE CRANES by DYLAN THOMAS KING DAVID by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET VICTORY BELLS by GRACE HAZARD CONKLING THE BELL by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY [DECEMBER 16, 1773] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES |
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