A Peal of Bells
Strike the bells wantonly,Tinkle tinkle well;Bring me wine, bring me flowers,Ring the silver bell.All my lamps burn scented oil,Hung on laden orange-trees,Whose shadowed foliage is the foilTo golden lamps and oranges.Heap my golden plates with fruit,Golden fruit, fresh-plucked and ripe;Strike the bells and breathe the pipe;Shut out showers from summer hours--Silence that complaining lute--Shut out thinking, shut out pain,From hours that cannot come again.
Strike the bells solemnly,Ding dong deep:My friend is passing to his bed,Fast asleep;There's plaited linen round his head,While foremost go his feet--His feet that cannot carry him.My feast's a show, my lights are dim;Be still, your music is not sweet,--There is no music more for him:His lights are out, his feast is done;His bowl that sparkled to the brimIs drained, is broken, cannot hold;My blood is chill, his blood is cold;His death is full, and mine begun.
Words in this poem
- wantonly adv.
- In a wanton manner; without regularity or restraint; loosely; sportively; gayly; playfully; recklessly; lasciviously.
- ding v. t.
- To dash; to throw violently. [OE. dingen, dengen; akin to AS. dencgan to knock, Icel. dengja to beat, hammer, Sw. dänga, G. dengeln.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Peal of Bells is in the public domain. This text is taken from Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #16950; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Christina Rossetti, A Peal of Bells, in Goblin Market and Other Poems (1862), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #16950, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/rossetti-goblin-market/a-peal-of-bells.html, id L04258.
Form and metre
A Peal of Bells is 30 lines in 2 stanzas of 15 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%). 96% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.1 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 7% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -ABACBCBDEEBDFF wantonly · wellA · flowersB · bellA · oilC · treesB · foilC · orangesB · fruitD · ripeE · pipeE · hoursB · luteD · painF · againF
- 2 -ABABCDDCDEDFFE solemnly · deepA · bedB · asleepA · headB · feetC · himD · dimD · sweetC · himD · doneE · brimD · holdF · coldF · begunE
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Strike the bells wantonly, | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| Tinkle tinkle well; | 5 | /˘/˘· |
| Bring me wine, bring me flowers, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Ring the silver bell. | 5 | ··/˘· |
| All my lamps burn scented oil, | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Hung on laden orange-trees, | 7 | ··/˘/˘· |
| Whose shadowed foliage is the foil | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| To golden lamps and oranges. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘˘ |
| Heap my golden plates with fruit, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Golden fruit, fresh-plucked and ripe; | 8 | /˘···˘·· |
| Strike the bells and breathe the pipe; | 7 | ······· |
| Shut out showers from summer hours-- | 9 | ··/˘·/˘/˘ |
| Silence that complaining lute-- | 7 | /˘·˘/˘· |
| Shut out thinking, shut out pain, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| From hours that cannot come again. | 8 | ·/·/˘·˘/ |
| Strike the bells solemnly, | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| Ding dong deep: | 3 | ··· |
| My friend is passing to his bed, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Fast asleep; | 3 | ·˘/ |
| There's plaited linen round his head, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| While foremost go his feet-- | 6 | ·/···· |
| His feet that cannot carry him. | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| My feast's a show, my lights are dim; | 8 | ········ |
| Be still, your music is not sweet,-- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| There is no music more for him: | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| His lights are out, his feast is done; | 8 | ········ |
| His bowl that sparkled to the brim | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Is drained, is broken, cannot hold; | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| My blood is chill, his blood is cold; | 8 | ········ |
| His death is full, and mine begun. | 8 | ······˘/ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.