Quotes about chime, page 20
Sonnet: At Ostend, July 22nd 1787
How sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal!
As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze
Breathes on the trembling sense of wan disease,
So piercing to my heart their force I feel!
And hark! with lessening cadence now they fall,
And now, along the white and level tide,
They fling their melancholy music wide,
Bidding me many a tender thought recall
Of summer-days, and those delightful years
When by my native streams, in life's fair prime,
The mournful magic of their mingling chime
First waked my wond'ring childhood into tears;—
But seeming now, when all those days are o'er,
The sounds of joy, once heard, and heard no more.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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XI. Written at Ostend
HOW sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal!
As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze
Breathes on the trembling sense of wan disease,
So piercing to my heart their force I feel!
And hark! with lessening cadence now they fall,
And now, along the white and level tide,
They fling their melancholy music wide,
Bidding me many a tender thought recall
Of summer-days, and those delightful years,
When by my native streams, in life's fair prime,
The mournful magic of their mingling chime
First wak'd my wond'ring childhood into tears!
But seeming now, when all those days are o'er,
The sounds of joy, once heard, and heard no more.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Dirge
Prayer unsaid, and mass unsung, Deadman's dirge must still be rung:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound! Mermen chant his dirge around!
Wash him bloodless, smooth him fair, Stretch his limbs, and sleek his hair
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells go! Mermen swing them to and fro!
In the wormless sand shall he Feast for no foul glutton be:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells chime! Mermen keep the tone and time!
We must with a tombstone brave Shut the shark out from his grave
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells toll! Mermen dirgers ring his knoll!
Such a slab will we lay o'er him All the dead shall rise before him!
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells boom! Mermen lay him in his tomb!
poem by George Darley
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The Bell Ringer (Le Sonneur)
While the bell awakens its voice clear and bright
To the pure deep air of the morning time,
Passing over a child who pours out in delight
An Angelus amid lavender and thyme,
The ringer, brushed by a bird brought to light,
Plods sadly and, mumbling a Latin rhyme
On the stone that stretches the old cord tight,
Hears only the tinkling of a far-off chime.
I myself am that man. For alas! when I pull
On anxious night’s rope to sound the Ideal,
Cold sins flaunt their faithful plumes in disdain
And the voice comes only as a hollow moan!
But one day, sick from having pulled in vain,
I’ll hang myself, Satan, removing the stone.
poem by Stephane Mallarme (15 March 1862), translated by Henry Weinfield
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Santa's Big Night
“We’re done” yelled the chubby Chief-Elf
A pleased expression on his ruddy face
As he set the last toy upon a bulging shelf
(A cute doll dressed up in pretty lace)
“Santa will be pleased” said Mrs. Claus
Placing her tired hands on rounded hips
“Elves put away your hammers & saws”
A kindly smile forming on her rosy lips
In strode Santa all dressed in red 'n white
“Filler up”, he tossing down an empty sack
“Make ready my sleigh, I leave at midnight”
“I’ll need three elves to help me pack”
Aloft, as workshop clock struck midnight chime
The elves heard Santa say…
“Its Hawaiian sun for me come summertime”
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Sonnets of the Empire:Australia, 1902
Gallant is Spring along thy laughing hills,
With wattle’s loveliest scent and gleam of gold,
When the good rain hath quickened all thy mould,
And the hot musk thine air with incense fills.
Sweet is the chime of all thy tinkling rills,
And fair thy Summer’s glory to behold,
And soft is life for thee, the sunny-souled,
Far from the world and all its olden ills.
Yet ’tis not calm that builds the hero breed,
High hearts are tempered ’neath a stormy star,
Through want and danger doth the soul increase,
Stern rings the clarion voice of Angel Need
To bid thee vanquish self, and gaze afar
And save thy soul alive from Harlot Peace.
poem by Archibald Thomas Strong
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The Sweets of Evening
The sweets of evening charm the mind,
Sick of the sultry day;
The body then no more confin'd,
But exercise with freedom join'd,
When Phoebus sheathes his ray.
While all-serene the summer moon
Sends glances thro' the trees,
And Philomel begins her tune,.
And Asteria too shall help her soon
With voice of skillful ease.
A nosegay, every thing that grows,
And music, every sound
To lull the sun to his repose;
The skies are colour'd like the rose
With lively streaks around.
Of all the changes rung by time
None half so sweet appear,
[...] Read more
poem by Christopher Smart
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The Policeman's Lot
When a felon's not engaged in his employment,
Or maturing his felonious little plans,
His capacity for innocent enjoyment
Is just as great as any honest man's.
Our feelings we with difficulty smother
When constabulary duty's to be done:
Ah, take one consideration with another,
A policeman's lot is not a happy one!
When the enterprising burglar isn't burgling,
When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime,
He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling,
And listen to the merry village chime.
When the coster's finished jumping on his mother,
He loves to lie a-basking in the sun:
Ah, take one consideration with another,
The policeman's lot is not a happy one!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The New-Year Babe
Two together, Babe and Year,
At the midnight chime,
Through the darkness drifted here
To the coast of Time.
Two together, Babe and Year,
Over night and day,
Crossed the desert Winter drear
To the land of May.
On together, Babe and Year
Swift to Summer passed.
'Rest a moment, Brother dear,'
Said the Babe at last.
'Nay, but onward,' answered Year,
'We must farther go,
[...] Read more
poem by John Bannister Tabb
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Head On
As does clash
this frequency
of world congestion.
Bracing for
another injection
of clairvoyance.
All presuming
entire prosperous
inherent risk.
We race
toward a brick wall
smashing all realities.
The elevators
of shifting platforms
take us upward.
[...] Read more
poem by Jodde Taylor
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