In Memoriam, [Ring out, wild bells]
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
About the Poem
“Ring Out, Wild Bells” appears as Canto 106 in In Memoriam A.H.H., Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s long elegy written after the death of his close friend Arthur Henry Hallam. Though In Memoriam is rooted in private grief, this section widens its gaze outward, turning the passage of the year into a moral reckoning.
The poem imagines the ringing of New Year’s bells as an act of judgment and intention. The bells are not sentimental. They are commands. Tennyson calls on them to ring out falsehood, greed, violence, and despair—and to ring in truth, kindness, justice, and a more humane future.
What makes this poem endure is that it refuses to treat time as neutral. A new year does not simply arrive; it must be claimed.
Reflections on the Poem
Several stanzas feel almost unnervingly current, especially when read at the close of 2025.
In stanza 6, Tennyson urges us to:
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
This is a direct challenge to systems that elevate wealth, lineage, or power over decency. It speaks to a year in which money has purchased influence, policy, and silence—where hateful politics have been funded, amplified, and normalized. It speaks to economies shaped by bad decisions, reckless tariffs, and inflation that squeeze ordinary people while the rich continue to profit.
In stanza 7, the poem grows sharper still:
Ring out the lust of gold, the care
Of self, the thousand wars of old;
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
It is difficult not to hear this as an indictment of a world driven by hoarding, domination, and perpetual conflict. In 2025, we have seen how greed erodes empathy—and how fear is weaponized to strip away rights. LGBTQ+ lives and voices have once again been treated as expendable. Speech is constrained under the guise of “protection,” whether through laws silencing queer discussion in classrooms or the creeping normalization of censorship in digital spaces.
And yet, this poem does not collapse into despair.
Tennyson does not ask us to deny reality. He asks us to name it—and then to imagine its opposite loudly enough that it becomes possible.
To read “Ring Out, Wild Bells” at the end of this year is to acknowledge grief, anger, exhaustion, and frustration—and still insist that they are not the final word. Even if meaningful change requires patience. Even if justice must wait for ballots cast and counted in November. The act of hope itself becomes resistance.
About the Poet
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892) served as Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom for more than forty years, a role that placed him at the intersection of private emotion and public moral imagination. His poetry often wrestles with grief, doubt, faith, progress, and the ethical responsibilities of humanity in a changing world.
Tennyson lived what appears, by historical evidence, to be a conventionally heterosexual life. He married Emily Sellwood in 1850 and had two sons. There is no reliable documentation that he engaged in sexual relationships with men, and historians rightly avoid assigning him a modern sexual identity.
And yet, In Memoriam A.H.H.—written after the sudden death of his closest friend, Arthur Henry Hallam—stands as one of the most emotionally intimate poetic works in the English language. The poem is saturated with longing, devotion, bodily absence, and an ache that reshapes Tennyson’s understanding of love, faith, and even God. The depth of that attachment has invited generations of readers to recognize something essential: queer meaning is not limited to queer identity.
In the Victorian era, intense same-sex emotional bonds were expressed in ways that do not map neatly onto modern categories of sexuality. What In Memoriam demonstrates is that love between men—whether or not it was sexual—could be central, formative, and life-altering. The poem refuses to minimize that bond or explain it away. Instead, it treats male–male love as morally serious, spiritually significant, and worthy of public language.
For LGBTQ+ readers today, this matters deeply. In Memoriam reminds us that queer resonance often exists before the language to name it. It lives in grief that society cannot fully acknowledge, in devotion that exceeds acceptable boundaries, and in love that quietly insists on its own legitimacy. The poem makes space for readers who recognize themselves not because the poet shared their identity, but because he articulated truths about love and loss that transcend labels.
Tennyson’s work endures not because it offers easy answers, but because it allows human affection—especially between men—to be expansive, dignified, and real. In doing so, In Memoriam continues to ring with meaning for those whose loves have so often been denied language, history, or blessing.
