Explore "Ding Dong" by Henry David Thoreau on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When the world grows old by the chimney-side, / Then forth to the youngling nooks I glide, / Where over the water and over the land / The bells are booming on either hand.
Now up they go ding, then down again dong, / And awhile they ring to the same old song, / For the metal goes round at a single bound, / A-cutting the fields with its measured sound, / While the tired tongue falls with a lengthened boom / As solemn and loud as the crack of doom.
Then changed is their measure to tone upon tone, / And seldom it is that one sound comes alone, / For they ring out their peals in a mingled throng, / And the breezes waft the loud ding-dong along.
When the echo hath reached me in this lone vale, / I am straightway a hero in coat of mail, / I tug at my belt and I march on my post, / And feel myself more than a match for a host.