The Bells
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
A paean from the bells!

Meer in de volledige tekst van dit vierdelige gedicht van Edgar Allen Poe.

Reacties

Wat is "jingle bells" gewoontjes dan, hè? Dat doet sneeuw dus met jou?

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