A Peal Of Bells

A few words to begin

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 foil To 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 brim Is drained, is broken, cannot hold; My blood is chill, his blood is cold; His death is full, and mine begun.