In Which We Learn a New Word
The magnificently melancholy A.E. Housman wrote it, and Lukas Foss set it to music in his (not very interesting, secondo me) Time Cycle:
When the bells justle in the tower
The hollow night amid,
Then on my tongue the taste is sour
Of all I ever did.
So the bells do what, now? Justling would seem to have the true onomatopoeic thing going (à la rustle) and of course bells and onomatopoeia are friends from way back. But bells bong and clang and tintinnabulate — they don't susurrate.
Turns out, weirdly enough, that "justle" is merely a variant of "jostle." Evidently the poet's attention isn't drawn by the noise of the bells at all, but by their efforts to elbow one another out of the way.
Bells. Go figure.