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FAVOURITE CLASSICS The Lyrical Poems of : Edgar Allan Poe. THE LYRICAL POEMS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE .

In 1 Volume.C. Persian by 1 Volume. W. In 2 Volumes. SELECTED POEMS OF MATTHEW ARNOLD. sold separately THE WORKS OF SHAKESPEARE. SELECTED ESSAYS OF CHARLES LAMB. In 1 Volume. In 2 Volumes. SELECTED ADDISON. ESSAYS In 1 OF JOSEPH THE LYRICAL POEMS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE. 6d. SHERIDAN. net . POEMS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLEIn 3 Volumes. Is. LORD TENNYSON. Volume. In 7 Volumes. limp leather. B. net Each volume In 40 Volumes. PIPPA PASSES. SELECTED POEMS OF ALFRED. EDWARD FITZGERALD. In 1 Volume. RIDGE. By ROBERT BKOWNIKO. ELECTRONIC VERSION AVAILABLE em- .HEINEMANN'S FAVOURITE CLASSICS Each volume with Photogravure Frontispiece Cloth. In To be followed by further volumes at short intervals LONDON : WILLIAM HEINEMANK 21 Bedford Street. Translated from the OMAR KHAYYAM. THE PLAYS OF R.

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THE LYRICAL POEMS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ARTHUR SYMONS and a Portrait of POE LONDON WILLIAM HEINEMANN 1906 .

and A. Printers to His Majesty . CONSTABLE.Edinburgh : T.

brought into the world.. few as they are. and Whittier and Bryant and Longfellow and Lowell had only varying degrees of talent Let us admit. It is true that there was in the genius of Poe something meretricious it is the flaw in his genius . the poems. that a diamond is flawed but need we compare it with this and that fine specimen of quartz ? artist . ' . ' Tamerlane/ 'Al Aaraaf. a conscious artist doing strange things with strange materials. by all means. .. but then he had genius. f Poetry Poe defined as the rhythmical creation of and the first element of poetry he found in beauty . Walt Whitman's vast poetical nature having remained a nature Because Foe was fanonly. how rare.' and Scenes from "Politian. when he says ' of Poe's poetry that it is a thing deep and shimmering and perfect as crystal/ Not all as dreams. not come to be an art. and would At their best they are perfectly denned by Baudelaire. narrative ' inhuman. they are so few that all have been reprinted here except the two poems and the fragment of a dramatic poem. was that beauty which this tastically . are flawless . not every one has realised how fine.INTRODUCTION work of a poet who art."' In these few unequal poems we have the only essential poetry which has yet come from America. mysterious THE poems which follow are the thought persistently about poetry as an have reduced inspiration to a method.

Give to it any undue decision imbue it with any very determinate tone and you deprive it at once of its ethereal. ' peats. 'I know.' he says. . .vi EDGAR ALLAN POE 'It is 'the thirst for supernal beauty/ not/ he re. Inspired with a prescient ecstasy of the beauty beyond the grave.' of beauty. perhaps. there must be indefiniteness. We lose. It is a wild effort to reach the beauty above. then. . appertain solely to eternity. rien que la nuance ' ( Pas la not the essential part of the poetical theory of Mallarme and of the French Symbolists enunciated in this definition and commendation of 'that class of composition in which ? And is there lies meaning an under or beneath the transparent upper current of ' suggestive one ? To this mystic ' ." says Lord Bacon (how no exquisite beauty without some : " strangeness in the proportions. 'that indefiniteness is an element of the true music I mean of the true musical expression. in colour. in short.' Do we not seem to an anticipation of Verlaine's ' Art Poetique couleur. as another ! of the elements of this creation of beauty. its intrinsic find here ' : and essential character. to anticipate some portions of that loveliness whose very elements.' The ' poet. his favourite quotation ' He makes justly !) "there is But." Take away this element of strangeness of unexpectedness of novelty of originality call it what we will and all that is ethereal in loveliness is lost at once. all that assimilates the beauty of earth with what ' we dream of the beauty of heaven And. in form. should limit his endeavours to the creation of novel moods in sentiment. . it struggles by multiform novelty of combination among the things and thoughts of time. the mere appreciation of the beauty before us. . Note the emphasis upon novel : to Poe there was no beauty without strangeness. its ideal. in sound.

as if still thinking f of Keats.' he says of province does not extend. is Taste. poetry with indefinite sensations. ' does not end here. he says It is chiefly amid forms of physical loveliness (we use the word forms in its widest sense as embracing modifications of sound and colour) that the soul seeks the realisation of its dreams of Beauty/ And. since comprehension of sweet . by having. who said. but an august and soul-exalting echo. he states. in my opinion.INTRODUCTION ' vii ' or secondary expression he attributes the vast force . being a poem only so far as this object is attained . with more earnest insistence on those limits which he knew to be so much more necessary to guard in poetry than its so-called freedom (' the true artist " will avail himself of no "licence whatever'). I suppose. . pleasure. its With the has only collateral relations. Its sole arbiter Intellect or with the Conscience it poetry. to which end music is an essential. It has no dependence. . romance presenting perceptible images with definite. not meaning anything very from what Poe meant. With each note of an accompaniment in music. truth ' He is the sole British poet who has beauty/ he says never erred in his themes. been said more subtly or more precisely ? And Poe generalities. with what may seem ' Beyond the limits of beauty. an indefinite instead of a definite : pleasure. of the lyre is heard a ghostly. upon either Duty or Truth. ' And unless incidentally. for its object. of the poet different : : with categorical precision ' A poem. not truth .' And.' Has anything that has been said since on that conception of poetry without which no writer of verse would. for its immediate object. ' Beauty is truth. is opposed to a work of science by having. venture to write verse. to romance. and not always a distinct.

' long poem does not exist. and to hold our attention until the Essential poetry is an essence too poetry returns. more truth than 'I hold." is simply a flat contradiction in terms. from its very definiteness.' ' after denning his ideal. with length of actual poetry. while ' Paradise Lost' ' ' is consecutive essential poetry. and concede.' he says elsewhere. In yet another essay he ' a length of about one hundred lines as the most likely to convey that unity of impression. long poem. to call s even Wordsworth's Excursion a poem. Remember. not only to the province of poetic pleasure. without the idea. the idea. when combined with a pleasurable idea. is simply music .' And he would set these careful limits. in which he ' suggests found the highest merit of poetry. Music. . and wisely. very justly. not thirty consecutive lines of essential poetry in the whole of ' The Excursion. that of true poetry we have already had his definition. crammed with .' he says. without the music. at the very utmost'. most people are quite willing to see. not to what might be perused in an hour. ' that a 'is a paradox. and to accept ' But there are Paradise Lost as throughout a poem. but to the form and ' A long poem. that within this limit alone can "a And. cannot easily be imagined.' In another ' essay he narrows the duration to half an hour. whatever is written eloquently in metre . a rhymed poem. music. under the general name of poetry. the highest order of true poetry exist.' and. is prose. is poetry. I maintain that the phrase. We are too ready to accept.viii EDGAR ALLAN POE sound is our most indefinite conception.' exceed in length f he says. that a loftier conception of poetry as poetry. poetry as lyric essence. that poetry is not but the splendid workmanship comes in to fill up the gaps. length with that intensity of true poetical effect.

to concentrate it in his own verse . and. and he has left us at ' least a few poems. he sought. diluted. within his own limits. for the most part. the absolute.' in which he has found. ARTHUR SYMONS. it can be endured . Foe could conceive of it only in the absolute . if of a perfection almost beyond mortal powers. He sought for it in the verse of all poets . and his is the counsel of perfection. ..INTRODUCTION ix strong for the general sense. ciascun distinto e difulgore e d'arte. as few have ever sought. the poets dilute it.

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.......... ... 1 8 THE HAUNTED PALACE THE CONQUEROR WORM ISRAFEL 13 15 16 .. THE SLEEPER FOR ANNIE .... .. . 18 21 ULALUME ANNABEL LEE .... . 42 43 45 46 HYMN 47 . THE CITY IN THE SEA THE VALLEY OF UNREST DREAM-LAND ROMANCE FAIRY-LAND SPIRITS OF ... . ... ..CONTENTS PAGE THE RAVEN THE BELLS .. ......... .... 25 28 30 32 33 35 36 THE DEAD 38 39 40 41 A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM ALONE THE LAKE: TO BRIDAL BALLAD LENORE ELDORADO EULALIE .

FROM AL AARAAF .. .... .. ... 67 68 62 62 64 69 70 O D ..... SONG TO LIGEIA.. ...70 .xii EDGAR ALLAN POE PAGE SONG 48 48 . 60 . S A VALENTINE AN ENIGMA TO ONE TO F TO F S S. 71 . . 61 TO ZANTE THE COLISEUM TO HELEN TO M. .. ....... 50 52 53 54 DREAMS SONG..... IN PARADISE . TO TO THE RIVER ... . . TO L.... ' .-- .. ..72 72 73 73 TO TO MY MOTHER TO HELEN .... .. THE HAPPIEST HOUR STANZAS EVENING STAR .. ..... FROM ' AL AARAAF ' .. . .. . 56 57 TO SCIENCE SILENCE . 49 50 A DREAM f THE HAPPIEST DAY. ' . .. .

weak and weary. Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore.' I muttered. For the rare and radiant maiden : whom the angels name Lenore Nameless here for evermore. ghost upon the Eagerly I wished the morrow. vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost Lenore. ''Tis some visitor. distinctly I remember it was in the bleak its December. And each separate dying ember wrought floor. c tapping at my chamber door Only this and nothing more/ : Ah. nearly napping.THE RAVEN ONCE upon a midnight dreary. As of some one gently rapping. . While I nodded. rapping at my chamber door. suddenly there came a tapping. while I pondered.

or Madam. and so gently you came rapping. That I scarce was sure I heard you' here I opened wide the door Darkness there and nothing more. to <'Tis still the beating of my heart. I stood repeating some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door. stillness . : And Deep into that darkness peering. fearing. tapping at my chamber door. But the fact is I was napping. late visitor : Some entreating entrance at my chamber door This it is and nothing more. Doubting. so faintly you came tapping.' Presently ' my ' soul grew stronger . But the silence was unbroken. Sir/ said I. and the gave no token. hesitating then truly your forgiveness I no longer. dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before . long I stood there wondering. me with fantastic terrors never felt before So that now.2 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain And Thrilled me filled . implore .

something at is. all my soul within me Soon again e burning. Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore : 'Tis the wind and nothing more/ Open here a flirt I flung the shutter. perched above my my chamber door. In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he . what thereat and mystery explore .' said I. ' Lenore Merely this and nothing more. and an echo murmured back * the word. But. not a minute stopped or stayed he . with many and flutter. then. and Pallas just above sat. ' Surely. and nothing more. my this Let me see. with mien of lord or lady. I heard a tapping somewhat louder is than before. . surely that window lattice . Lenore the : 3 spoken ' ! was the I whispered.EDGAR ALLAN POE And This only word there ' whispered word. Back into the chamber turning. when. Perched upon a bust of chamber door: Perched.

Nothing further then he uttered. spoke only That one word. sitting lonely on the placid bust. Though answer little meaning little rele- vancy bore . Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Though thy ' art sure : Plutonian shore ' ! ' Quoth the Raven. For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door.' Much I marvelled its this ungainly fowl to hear dis- course so plainly. thou/ I no craven. crest be shorn and shaven. With such name as ' Nevermore/ But the Raven. . said. Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door.4 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF this Then By ' ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling the grave and stern decorum of the counten- ance it wore. not a feather then he fluttered. as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nevermore.

5 'Other On the morrow he will leave me. upon the velvet sinking. gaunt. friends have flown before . ominous What this grim.EDGAR ALLAN POE Till I scarcely more than muttered. Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door .' my Hopes Then the bird said.' Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly utters is spoken. ghastly. 'what stock and store. ungainly. 'Doubtless/ said I. thinking what bird of yore. Then. as have flown before." ' beguiling all my fancy into smiling. ' Nevermore. to linking I betook myself this Fancy unto fancy. and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking ' Nevermore/ . merciful Disaster it its only Caught from some unhappy master Followed fast and followed faster one burden bore : whom un- till his songs Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of " Never But the Raven still nevermore.

with my head at ease reclining the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er. but no syllable into To the expressing fowl whose fiery eyes bosom's core . Desolate yet all undaunted. if bird or devil Whether Tempter sent. perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted ' floor. ' Wretch/ thy God hath lent thee these angels he hath sent thee I cried. ah. But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er She shall press. and forget this lost Lenore ' Quoth the Raven. methought. the air grew denser. nevermore ! Then. oh quaff this kind nepenthe. now burned my This and more On I sat divining. ! ' thing of evil ! prophet still. by Respite respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quaff. or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore. Nevermore/ ' ! ' ' Prophet ! said I. on this desert land enchanted .6 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF I This sat engaged in guessing.

Lenore : Clasp a rare and radiant maiden ' ! the angels Quoth the Raven. 'Nevermore/ . Tell this soul with sorrow laden within the dis- tant Aidenn. Nevermore/ ' Be that word our I sign of parting. upstarting ' Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore ! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken Leave my loneliness unbroken quit the bust above my door Take thy beak from out my heart.EDGAR ALLAN POE On Is 7 this I home by Horror haunted ! tell me tell truly. ! thing of evil prophet us. if. if bird or devil By that Heaven that bends above by that God we both adore.' ' Prophet ! said < I. implore there is there balm in Gilead ' ? me tell me. ' ' Nevermore. and take thy form from off my door ! ! ! ' ! Quoth the Raven. It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom whom ' the angels name Lenore name. I implore ! Quoth the Raven. bird or fiend : ' ! shrieked. still.

seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight . still is sitting. of Pallas just above my chamber door his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted nevermore : ! THE BELLS HEAR What a world tells ! the sledges with the Silver bells ! bells. tinkle. time. still sitting On And And the pallid bust . In a sort of Runic rhyme. of merriment their melody fore- How they tinkle. In the icy air of night ! While the stars. time. never is And flitting. tinkle.8 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF the Raven. Keeping time. that oversprinkle All the heavens. .

bells To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! . Hear the mellow wedding Golden bells ! bells. What a world of happiness their harmony fore! tells Through the balmy How air of night they ring out their delight From the molten-golden notes. bells. from out the sounding cells. What a gush of euphony voluminously wells it dwells the Future how ! ! How How it swells ! On it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells. bells. bells. bells. bells. bells. Bells. ! And all in tune. bells. while she gloats On the moon ! Oh. bells. Of the bells. Bells. bells From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens. bells. bells.EDGAR ALLAN POE To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 9 From the bells.

Oh. In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the In a mad fire. side of the pale-faced moon. Out of tune.10 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF in Hear the loud alarum Brazen bells : bells. the danger ebbs and flows distinctly tells. shriek. ! Too much They can only shriek. Now By the now to sit or never. Yet the ear . And a resolute endeavour. the bells. and roar What a horror they outpour How ! On the bosom of the palpitating air Yet the ear it fully knows. their turbulency tells In the startled ear of night ! How they scream out their affright horrified to speak. . fire. ! By the twanging And How the clanging. bells! What a tale their Of Despair ! terror tells they clang. With a desperate desire. higher. expostulation with the deaf and frantic Leaping higher. higher. bells. What a tale of terror. now. and clash.

tolling In that muffled monotone. Feel a glory in so rolling On They They the are neither human heart a stone man nor woman.EDGAR ALLAN POE And In the jangling the wrangling. the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the Of the bells. bells In the clamour and the clangour of the bells IV ! Hear the tolling of the bells. the danger sinks and swells. 11 How By bells. bells. are neither brute nor . bells. And who tolling. Iron bells ! What a world of solemn thought their ! monody compels In the silence of the night How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace For every sound that of their tone ! floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. bells. Bells. Of the bells. the people. human. They that dwell up in the steeple. bells. the people ah. tolling. And All alone.

In a sort of Runic rhyme. In a sort of Runic rhyme. knells. bells. bells. bells To the sobbing of the bells . bells. bells. . bells. Of the bells. To the paean of the Of the bells: bells.12 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF They are Ghouls : And their king it is who And he rolls. In a happy Runic rhyme. To the throbbing of the bells. time. rolls. : Bells. time. knells. dances. bells To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. time. Keeping As he time. bells. A And paean from the bells . Of the bells. time. time. Of the bells. and he yells : Keeping time. Keeping time. time. his merry bosom swells With the And he paean of the bells. rolls. knells. bells To the tolling of the bells. To the rolling of the bells. Rolls tolls .

Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair. In that sweet day. Porphyrogene. Wanderers in that happy valley Through two luminous windows saw Spirits moving musically.EDGAR ALLAN POE 13 THE HAUNTED PALACE IN the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted. golden. And every gentle air that dallied. . Banners yellow. sitting. glorious. A winged odour went away. In state his glory well befitting. In the monarch Thought's dominion. To a lute's Round about well-tuned law. Along the ramparts plumed and pallid. It stood there . Once a fair and stately palace Radiant palace reared its head. a throne where. roof did float and flow On (This its all this was in the olden Time long ago). The ruler of the realm was seen.

A sparkling evermore. flowing. Through which came flowing. let us mourn. (Ah. in robes of sorrow. flowing. like a ghastly rapid river. troop of Echoes. But evil things. . Assailed the monarch's high estate . laugh but smile no more. In voices of surpassing beauty.14 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door. The wit and wisdom of their king. While. And travellers now Through the red-litten within that valley windows see Vast forms that move fantastically a discordant melody . Through the pale door To A hideous And throng rush out forever. Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. whose sweet duty And Was but to sing. for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate !) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed.

At bidding That of vast formless things and fro. in the form of God on high. and drowned in tears. An angel throng. Mutter and mumble low. Sit in a theatre to see play of hopes and fears. bedight In veils. Through a circle that ever returneth . And hither and thither fly Mere puppets they. To the self-same spot And much of Madness. And Horror the soul of the plot. and more of Sin. from out their condor wings Flapping shift the scenery to Invisible Woe. oh. be sure ! That motley drama It shall With its not be forgot Phantom chased for evermore in By a crowd that seize it not. While the orchestra breathes A fitfully The music of the spheres. who come and go . Mimes. bewinged.EDGAR ALLAN POE 15 THE CONQUEROR WORM Lo ! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years. .

ISRAFEL And the angel Israf el. out are the lights out all over each quivering form ! Out And The curtain. unveiling. and wan. . whose heart-strings are a lute. the Conqueror Man/ Worm. its And hero. Ceasing their hymns. Heaven a spirit doth dwell Whose heart-strings are a lute. affirm is the tragedy. The mimes become its And In seraphs sob at vermin fangs human gore imbued. and who Koran. Comes down with the rush of a While the angels. attend the spell Of his voice. a funeral pall.16 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF But see amid the mimic rout A crawling A The It writhes shape intrude blood-red thing that writhes from out : scenic solitude it ! writhes ! with mortal pangs food. has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures. And the giddy stars (so legends tell). all mute. That the play Uprising. None sing so wildly well IN As the angel Israfel. all pallid storm.

even. the red levin (With the rapid Pleiads. 17 The enamoured moon Blushes with love. An unimpassioned song To thee the laurels belong. Which were seven) Pauses in Heaven. because the wisest Merrily live. Where the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in a star. ? and long ! . But the skies that angel trod.EDGAR ALLAN POE Tottering above In her highest noon. to listen. While. Israfeli. The trembling living wire Of those unusual strings. Where deep thoughts are a duty. who despisest . Best bard. Therefore thou art not wrong. Where Love *s a grown-up God. And they say (the starry choir And the other listening things) That Is Israfeli's fire owing to that lyre By which he sits and sings.

could dwell If I Where Israfel Hath dwelt. softly dripping. With the fervour of thy lute Well may the stars be mute : ! Yes. but this Is a world of sweets and sours . in the month of June. dewy. this While a bolder note than might swell From my lyre within the sky. the quiet mountain-top. Exhales from out her golden rim.18 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF The ecstasies above With thy burning measures suit : Thy grief. thy joy. thy hate. Our flowers are merely flowers. And Is the shadow of thy perfect bliss the sunshine of ours. Heaven is thine . THE SLEEPER AT I midnight. An opiate vapour. dim. stand beneath the mystic moon. And. thy love. . and he where I. He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody. Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley. Upon drop by drop.

And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully. And would not. The bodiless airs. : ! : And this all solemn silentness . a wizard rout. for the world. That. Above the closed and fringed lid 'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid.EDGAR ALLAN POE The rosemary nods upon the grave The lily lolls upon the wave . and down the wall. Flit through thy chamber in and out. O lady dear. above strange thy dress thy length of tress. This window open to the night ? The wanton airs. ! Laughingly through the lattice drop . . Strange. Why ? A wonder to these garden trees Strange is ! thy pallor all. o'er the floor. so fearfully. hast thou no fear ? and what art thou dreaming here Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas. from the tree-top. Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall. . see ! Looking the lake A conscious slumber seems to take. ! All beauty sleeps and lo ! ! where lies Irene. awake. The ruin moulders into rest like Lethe. 19 Wrapping the fog about its breast. with her destinies O lady bright can it be right.

My As Soft it is love. may her deep ! sleep. o'er the crested palls Of her grand family funerals . many an idle stone : Some tomb from out whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more. Triumphant. alone. may the worms about her creep forest. she sleeps. Which is enduring. Thrilling to think. may her sleep. Oh. For her may some tall vault unfold Far in the : Some vault that oft hath flung its black And winged panels fluttering back. ! dim and old. so be Oh. I pray to God that she may lie Forever with unopened eye.20 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF The lady sleeps. remote. Against whose portal she hath thrown. poor child of sin. While the pale sheeted ghosts go by. This bed for one more melancholy. It was the dead who groaned within ! . Some sepulchre. In childhood. so be deep Heaven have her in its sacred keep ! ! This chamber changed for one more holy. lasting.

EDGAR ALLAN POE

21

FOR ANNIE
THANK Heaven the crisis, The danger, is past,
!

And And
Is

the lingering illness

Is over at last,

the fever called

'

'

Living

conquered at
I

last.

Sadly
I

know

am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move
As
I
I lie

at full length
!

:

But no matter

I

feel

am

better at length.

And

I rest so

composedly
bed,

Now,

in

my

That any beholder Might fancy me dead, Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart ah, that horrible,
:

Horrible throbbing

!

22

THE LYRICAL POEMS OF
The sickness, the nausea. The pitiless pain, Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain, With the fever called Living'
'

That burned in

my

brain.

And oh

!

of

all tortures,

That torture the worst

Has abated

the terrible

Torture of thirst

For the naphthaline river

Of
I

Passion accurst

:

have drank of a water

That quenches

all thirst

:

Of

a water that flows,

With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few

From

Feet under ground, a cavern not very

far

Down
And
Be That
ah
1

under ground.
let it

never
it is

foolishly said

my room

gloomy,
;

And narrow my bed For man never slept
In a different bed
:

And,

to sleep,

you must slumber

In just such a bed.

EDGAR ALLAN POE
My
tantalised spirit

23

reposes, Forgetting, or never

Here blandly
Regretting,

its

roses

:

Its old agitations

Of myrtles and

roses

;

For now, while so quietly
Lying,
it

fancies

A
A

holier odour

About

it,

of pansies

:

rosemary odour, Commingled with pansies,
beautiful

With rue and the
Puritan pansies.

And

so

it lies

happily,

Bathing in many

A dream
And
Of the

of the truth

the beauty of Annie, Drowned in a bath
tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me, She fondly caressed,

And then I fell gently To sleep on her breast,
Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her
breast.

She covered me warm. she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm. in my bed . That you fancy me dead And rest so contentedly bed.24 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF When And the light was extinguished. That you shudder to look at me. sparkles with glows with the light Of the love of my Annie. Thinking me dead. With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie. That you fancy me dead. . Now. To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm. (Knowing her love). And I lie so composedly Now. in I my (With her love at my breast). But my heart it is brighter Than For It it all of the many Annie : Stars in the sky.

Our had been serious and sober. That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. For we knew not the month was October. leaves they were withering and sere . The The It leaves they were crisped and sere. In the misty mid region of Weir It : was down by the dank tarn of Auber. Our memories were treacherous and sere. Here once. scoriae rivers that lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole. I roamed with my Soul Of cypress. through an alley Titanic Of cypress. my Soul. talk not the night of the year. night And we marked . But our thoughts they were palsied and sere. It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year was hard by the dim lake of Auber. . my heart was volcanic roll.EDGAR ALLAN POE 25 ULALUME THE skies they were ashen and sober . with As the As the These were days when Psyche. of all nights in the year !) (Ah.

And now. To shine on us with her bright eyes Come up through the lair of the Lion. . . She revels in a region of sighs I said ' : : She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks. And She is warmer than Dian She rolls through an ether of sighs. where the worm never And has come past the stars of the Lion dies. bediamonded crescent its Distinct with duplicate horn. As the star-dials hinted of morn. a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn. At the end of our path a liquescent And Out of which Astarte's nebulous lustre was born. To point us the path to the skies. To the Lethean peace of the skies Come up. in despite of the Lion. Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.26 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF dim lake of We noted not the Auber (Though once we had journeyed down here). as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn. With love in her luminous eyes/ .

letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust . . I replied This is nothing but dreaming Let us on by this tremulous light Let us bathe in this crystalline light ! ' : ! Its sibyllic splendour is beaming : ! beauty to-night See. And conquered her scruples and gloom And we passed to the end of the vista. they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. it flickers up the sky through the night Ah. it flickers trust to a up to Heaven through the night/ Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her. And tempted her out of her gloom. By the door of a legended tomb . hasten Oh. In agony sobbed.EDGAR ALLAN POE But Psyche. I Sadly this star Her pallor I ! Oh. strangely mistrust : oh. uplifting her Said ' 27 finger. letting sink her Plumes Till till they trailed in the dust. . fly ! mistrust. And be sure it will lead us aright : With hope and in We safely may Since gleaming That cannot but guide us aright. we safely may trust to its gleaming.' ! ! In terror she spoke. let us not linger let us fly for we must. But were stopped by the door of a tomb.

now. this dim lake of Auber. . In a kingdom by the sea. what demon has tempted me here ? journeyed I . This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir/ : ANNABEL LEE many and many a year ago. now. the door of this legended tomb ? ' ' She replied f Ulalume 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume Ulalume ' ! Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere. IT was may And this of Annabel Lee maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. sweet sister. That a maiden there lived whom you know By the name .28 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF I And said On What is written. Ah. As the leaves that were withering and sere. brought a dread burden down here On this night of all nights in the year. Well I know. And I cried ' It was surely October On this very night of last year I That That I journeyed down here. This misty mid region of Weir Well I know. this dank tarn of Auber.

wind blew out of a cloud. long ago. Can ever dissever my Of the beautiful soul from the Annabel Lee soul : . The ! angels. And A this was the reason that. In this kingdom by the sea. In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night. Yes that was the reason (as all men know. With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. Of many far wiser than we . So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we. But we loved with a love that was more than I and my Annabel Lee . Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.EDGAR ALLAN POE I 29 was a child and she was a child In this . To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the happy in heaven. And neither the angels in heaven above. kingdom by the sea. not half so Went envying her and me . love. chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee . Nor the demons down under the sea.

30 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF For the moon never beams. In her tomb by the sounding sea. Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. . There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not) Resemble nothing that is ours. by lifting winds forgot. And so. but I feel the bright . eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee . Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. THE CITY Lo ! IN THE SEA Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West. I lie down by the side Of my darling my darling my life and my bride. In her sepulchre there by the sea. without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee And the stars never rise. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town .. all the night-tide. Around.

Not the Tempt the waters from For no ripples gaily-jewelled dead. No No Alo'ng that wilderness of glass . their curl. There open fanes and gaping graves Yawn level with the luminous waves But not the riches there that lie In each idol's diamond eye. halls. So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air. hint that winds have been heavings seas less hideously serene far-off ! . and the vine. bed . spires. the violet. swellings tell that winds may be Upon some On happier sea . alas. While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down. Gleams up the pinnacles far and free 31 : Up Up Up up kingly up Babylon-like walls.EDGAR ALLAN POE But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently. Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol. up fanes. domes. shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers. .

Nightly. visitor shall confess sad valley's restlessness. Shall do it reverence. And when. The hours are breathing faint and low. Trusting to the mild-eyed stars. that town shall settle hence. . if their As A void tops had feebly given within the filmy Heaven ! The waves have now a redder glow. a stir is in the air is ! The wave As if there a movement there ! the towers had thrust aside. Hell. down no earthly moans. rising from a thousand thrones. To keep watch above the In the midst of which all flowers. day The red Now The each sunlight lazily lay. Nothing there is motionless. from their azure towers.32 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF But lo. amid Down. Nothing save the airs that brood Over the magic solitude. the dull tide . THE VALLEY OF UNREST ONCE it smiled a silent dell Where the people did not dwell They had gone unto the wars. In slightly sinking. .

Where an Eidolon. by no wind are stirred those trees That palpitate like the chill seas Around the misty Hebrides Ah. by no wind those clouds are driven That rustle through the unquiet Heaven Uneasily. : And chasms and Bottomless vales and boundless floods. caves and Titan woods. named Night. On I a black throne reigns upright. Out of Space out of Time. Over the lilies there that wave And weep above : a nameless grave ! from out their fragrant tops They wave Eternal dews come down in drops. Over the violets there that lie ! 33 In myriad types of the human eye. Haunted by ill angels only. They weep : from off their delicate stems Perennial tears descend in gems. . have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule From a wild weird clime that lieth. from morn till even. DREAM-LAND BY a route obscure and lonely. sublime.EDGAR ALLAN POE Ah.

By the grey woods.34 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF With forms that no man can discover For the tears that drip all over . There the traveller meets aghast Sheeted Memories of the Past Shrouded forms that start and sigh As they pass the wanderer by. still and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily. By each spot the most unholy. Surging. lone and dead. Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters. murmuring ever . : . By the lakes that thus outspread Their lone waters. Seas that restlessly aspire. Mountains toppling evermore Into seas without a shore . By the dismal tarns and pools Where dwell the Ghouls . By the mountains near the river Murmuring lowly. In each nook most melancholy. White-robed forms of friends long given. to the Earth and Heaven. Their sad waters. by the swamp Where the toad and the newt encamp . lone and dead. In agony. sad and chilly With the snows of the lolling lily . unto skies of fire . Their still waters.

soothing region . Where an Eidolon. For the spirit that walks in shadow 'Tis 35 oh. it. . named Night. To lisp my very earliest word . ROMANCE ROMANCE. May not its dare not openly view mysteries are exposed Never To the weak human eye unclosed So wills its King. Haunted by ill angels only. who loves to nod and sing With drowsy head and folded wing Among the green leaves as they shake Far down within some shadowy lake. this ultimate have wandered home but newly From dim Thule. bird To me a painted paroquet Hath been a most familiar Taught me my alphabet to say. By a route obscure and lonely. who hath forbid The uplifting of the fringed lid . And thus the sad Soul that here passes it Beholds but through darkened glasses. 'tis an Eldorado ! But the traveller. On I a black throne reigns upright. travelling through it .EDGAR ALLAN POE For the heart whose woes are legion 'Tis a peaceful.

Every moment of the night. and shadowy floods. FAIRY-LAND DIM vales. Again again again. And they put out the starlight With the breath from their pale faces. Of late. . I have no time for idle cares Through gazing on the unquiet sky And when an hour with calmer wings . child with a most knowing eye. Its down upon my little spirit flings. That To time with lyre and rhyme while away forbidden things heart would feel to be a crime it My Unless trembled with the strings. Forever changing places. eternal condor years So shake the very heaven on high With tumult as they thunder by. cloudy-looking woods. Whose forms we can't discover And For the tears that drip all over ! Huge moons there wax and wane.THE LYRICAL POEMS OF A While in the wild-wood I did lie.

over halls. And buries them up quite In a labyrinth of light . While its wide circumference In easy drapery falls Over hamlets. Videlicet. . a tent. And their moony covering Is soaring in the skies as they toss. how deep. With its centre on the crown Of a mountain's eminence. n Its atomies. deep. almost anything Or a yellow albatross. They use that moon no more With the tempests Like For the same end as before. Wherever they may be . O'er the strange woods. Over every drowsy thing. however. Over spirits on the wing. And then.EDGAR ALLAN POE About twelve by the moon-dial. oh. One. ! Is the passion of their sleep In the morning they arise. o'er the sea. more filmy than the rest 37 (A kind which. Into a shower dissever. They have found to be the best). upon trial. Comes down still down and down. Which I think extravagant.

. SPIRITS OF THE DEAD THY soul shall find itself alone . Have brought a specimen Upon their quivering wings. But their red orbs. of all the crowd. though clear. shall frown. and their will Shall overshadow thee be still. to pry Be silent in that solitude.THE LYRICAL POEMS OF Of which those butterflies Of Earth. To thy weariness shall seem forever. are again In death around thee. Which is not loneliness for then The spirits of the dead. without beam. And the stars shall look not down From their high thrones in the Heaven With light like hope to mortals given. 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone Not one. The night. who seek the skies. As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee . Into thine hour of secrecy. who stood In life before thee. And so come down again (Never-contented things !).

I hold within my hand Of a And Grains of the golden sand . Shadowy. in parting from you now.EDGAR ALLAN POE Now Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish. stand amid the roar surf-tormented shore. How it hangs upon the trees. That my days have been a dream Yet if hope has flown away In a night. shadowy. Is a symbol and a token. Is it therefore the less gone ? All that Is I we see or seem but a dream within a dream. spirit shall 39 From thy they pass grass. the breath of God. Thus much let me avow ! : You are not wrong who deem . No more. In a vision. or in a day. are visions ne'er to vanish . the mist upon the hill is still. A mystery of mysteries ! A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM TAKE this kiss upon the brow And. yet unbroken. or in none. The like dewdrops from the And breeze.

or the fountain. source I have not taken My sorrow I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone And all I . Then in my childhood. I loved alone. in the dawn Of a most stormy life was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still From the torrent. passions from a common spring. loved. From the red cliff of the mountain. . . While I weep while I weep O God Them ! can I not grasp ? O God with a tighter clasp can I not save ! wave ? seem But a dream within a dream pitiless Is all that One from the we see or ? ALONE FROM childhood's hour I have not heen As others were I have not seen As others saw I could not bring . My From the same . From the sun that round me rolled : In its autumn tint of gold.40 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF How few ! yet how they creep ! Through my fingers to the deep.

But a tremulous delight A feeling not the jewelled mine : Could teach or bribe me to define.EDGAR ALLAN POE From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by. 41 And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view. And the mystic wind went by pall Murmuring in melody. with black rock bound. . then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake. the tall pines that towered around. So lovely was the loneliness Of a And wild lake. Then ah. Yet that terror was not fright. But when the Night had thrown her Upon that spot. From the thunder and the storm. THE LAKE: TO IN spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less. Nor love although the love were thine. as upon all.

Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake. am happy now. fell But he spoke to reassure me. lord when he loves me well . ' Oh. BRIDAL BALLAD THE And Are ring is on my hand. Satins and jewels grand all at I And my command.42 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF Death was in that poisonous wave. And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining. I am happy now ! . And who is happy now. While a reverie came o'er me. I felt my bosom swell. For the words rang as a knell. And And to the church-yard bore me. he breathed his vow. first And my But. the wreath is on my brow . And he kissed my pallid brow. I sighed to him before me. And the voice seemed his who In the battle down the dell. ' Thinking him dead D'Elormie.

EDGAR ALLAN POE And thus the words were spoken. hast thou no tear or nevermore ! ? weep now See. And. And though my heart be broken. on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love. let the burial : rite be read the funeral song be sung An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young. LENORE AH. A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. 43 Here is a ring. Lenore ! Come. as token I That am happy now ! Would God I could awaken For I dream I know not how. . Lest the dead who is forsaken May not be happy now. . ! And my soul is sorely shaken Lest an evil step be taken. broken forever is ! the golden bowl toll! ! the spirit flown Let the bell a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river . And this the plighted vow And though my faith be broken. Guy De Vere.

The The life upon her yellow still hair but not within her eyes. life there. but rave not thus ! and let a Sabbath feel song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may no wrong. and ? . ye blessed ? that she died! How shall the ritual. with Hope that flew beside. she fell in And when her feeble health. be read the requiem how be sung By you by yours. 'Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below. that now so lowly : lies. the That did to death the innocence that died. ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride. then. Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride For her. slanderous tongue died so young Peccavimus ' by yours. the fair and debonair. The sweet Lenore hath gone before. the evil eye. upon her hair the death upon her eyes.44 c THE LYRICAL POEMS OF Wretches. the indignant ghost is riven From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven .

amid its hallowed mirth. lest her soul. A gallant knight. then. beside the King of Heaven Let no bell toll. And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No That looked spot of ground like Eldorado. . In search of Eldorado. . to a golden throne. Should catch the note as damned Earth ! it doth is float up from the ! And I ! to-night . But he grew old. And. In sunshine and in shadow Had journeyed long. Singing a song.EDGAR ALLAN POE From ! 46 grief and groan. my heart light no dirge will I upraise But waft the angel on her old days!' flight with a Paean of ELDORADO GAILY bedight. as his strength Failed him at length. This knight so bold.

Ah. ( Where can it be.46 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF He met * a pilgrim shadow Shadow/ said he. replied. And my Till the fair was a stagnant tide. and gentle Eulalie became my blush my ing bride. Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became smiling bride. * : This land of Eldorado ' ? Over the Mountains the Valley of the Shadow. less less bright The stars of Than the eyes the night of the radiant girl ! And never a flake That the vapour can make With the moon-tints of purple and pearl . boldly ride/ The shade ' If you seek for Eldorado ' ! EULALIE I DWELT alone soul In a world of moan. Of the Moon. Down Ride.

For her soul gives me sigh for sigh . While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye. when storms of fate o'ercast Darkly my Present and my Past. HYMN AT morn Maria ! at noon at twilight dim. Mother of God. My Thy soul. Astarte within the sky. thou hast heard my hymn. lest it should truant be. 47 Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded Can compare with the bright-eyed humble and careless curl. Let my Future radiant shine With sweet hopes of thee and thine ! . bright and strong. in good and ill. And not a cloud obscured the sky. While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye. In joy and woe. be with me still! When the hours flew brightly by. And all day long Shines. Eulalie's most Now Come doubt now pain never again.EDGAR ALLAN POE curl. grace did guide to thine and thee. Now.

The wantonest singing birds. The world all love before thee. The world all love before thee.48 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF SONG I SAW thee on thy bridal day. When a burning blush came o'er thee. And in thine eye a kindling light it (Whatever might be) sight Was all on Earth my aching Of loveliness could see. perhaps. Though happiness around thee lay. hath raised a fiercer flame ! may In the breast of him. TO THE bowers whereat. When that deep blush would come thee. in dreams. That blush. Are lips I see and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words . alas Who saw thee on that bridal day. o'er Though happiness around thee lay. was maiden shame : As such it well Though its glow pass.

clear flow Of crystal. The playful maziness of art. Why. and trembles. Her image deeply lies His heart which trembles at the beam Of her soul-searching eyes. . day Of the truth that gold can never buy. Which glistens then. Of the baubles that it may. And sleep to dream TO THE RIVER FAIR river ! in thy bright. the prettiest of brooks Her worshipper resembles . For in his heart.EDGAR ALLAN POE Thine eyes. Thou art an emblem of the glow Of beauty the unhidden heart. 49 Then O God ! desolately fall. Like starlight on a pall Thy heart thy heart ! I till wake and sigh. in Heaven of heart enshrined. on my funereal mind . wandering water. But when within thy wave she looks. then. In old Alberto's daughter . as in thy stream.

THE HAPPIEST HOUR' THE happiest day. Ah ! what is not a dream by day eyes are cast To him whose On things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past ? That holy dream. spirit guiding. could there be more purely bright In Truth's day-star ? THE HAPPIEST DAY. My The I feel hath flown. the happiest hour seared and blighted heart hath known. But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted. What though that light. that holy dream.50 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF A DREAM IN visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed. Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely night. . through storm and What So trembled from afar. While all the world were chiding. highest hope of pride and power.

would not its live again. with the pain that brightest hour then I felt. powerful to destroy A soul that knew it well. my spirit ! ? The happiest Mine eyes shall see day. what have I now with thee Another brow may even inherit The venom thou hast poured on me Be still. alas The visions of my youth have been But let them pass. And. have been.EDGAR ALLAN POE Of power. as it fluttered. But were that hope of pride and power Now Even I offered. said I ? 51 . the happiest hour have ever seen. yes ! such I ween But they have vanished long. fell An essence. pride. . For on wing was dark alloy. The I feel brightest glance of pride and power. ! And.

In daylight. IN youth have I known one with whom the Earth. In secret. Her woods her wilds her mountains Reply of HERS to OUR intelligence ! BYRON : The Island. nickering torch of life was .52 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF STANZAS How often we forget all time. when lone the intense Admiring Nature's universal throne . and no more. and in beauty from his birth Whose fervid. lit From the sun and stars. ii Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought To a fever by the moonbeam that hangs o'er . whence he had drawn fit forth A passionate light such for his spirit was And yet that spirit knew not. That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass As dew of the night-time o'er the summer grass ? . in the hour Of its own fervour. as he with it. . But I will half believe that wild light fraught With more of sovereignty than ancient lore Hath ever told or is it of a thought The unembodied essence. what had o'er it power. communing held.

'Tis a symbol and a token IV in other worlds shall be. as of a harp-string broken. cold moon. Though not with Faith. as the expanding eye object. so the tear to the lid Will start. which hath striven. and that tone. And stars. To awake us. That high tone of the spirit. .EDGAR ALLAN POE in 63 Doth o'er us To the loved pass. . Shone pale. but common which doth lie Each hour before us but then only bid With a strange sound. And mid-time of night . when. and given In beauty by our God to those alone Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven. with godliness. which lately slept in apathy ? And yet it need not be that object hid From us in life. whose Drawn by throne With desperate energy 't hath beaten down Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown. in their orbits. EVENING STAR 'TWAS noontide of summer. Of what their heart's passion. through the light Of the brighter.

I gazed awhile On Too cold her cold smile. Proud Evening And In thy glory afar. . DREAMS OH. proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night. lowly light. And more I admire Thy distant fire Thau that colder. A fleecy And I cloud. Her beam on the waves. till the beam Of an Eternity should bring the morrow sorrow. dearer thy beam shall be For joy to my heart Is the . Herself in the Heavens. that my young life were a lasting dream ! ! My spirit not awakening. as a shroud. turned away to thee. too cold for me . There passed. Yes! though that long dream were of hopeh 'Twere better than the cold reality Of waking life to him whose heart must be.64 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF 'Mid planets her slaves. Star.

from his birth. upon the lovely A chaos of deep passion. But should it be that dream eternally Continuing as dreams have been to me In my young boyhood. or the stars. howe'er it was. apart From mine own home.EDGAR ALLAN POE And hath been still. 'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven. or the moon Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon Too coldly. In climes of mine imagining. I ! pass. though in a dream. As in that fleeting. and left behind Its image on my spirit. 'twas the chilly wind Came o'er me in the night. which brings To the delirious eye more lovely things Of Paradise and Love and all our own Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known . have been happy and I love the theme Dreams in their vivid colouring of life. shadowy. misty strife Of semblance with reality. That dream was as that night-wind let it I have been happy. 55 earth. when the sun was bright summer sky. should it thus be given. in dreams of living light have left my very heart loveliness. with beings that have been Of mine own thought seen ? what more could I have 'Twas once and only once and the wild hour From my remembrance shall not pass some power Or spell had bound me . For I In the And have revelled.

The boundary of the star Which turneth at the view Of thy barrier and thy bar. Of the barrier overgone By the comets who were cast From their pride. and from their To be drudges till the last. To be carriers of fire (The red fire throne. hath known. messenger. The terrible and ! fair In beauty vie Beyond the line of blue. that dwellest where. O God ! The star hath ridden high . In the deep sky. for thy Infinity of their own.56 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF SONG FROM *AL AARAAF* SPIRIT. that Who livest In Eternity we feel But the shadow of whose brow What spirit shall reveal ? Though the beings Thy Have dreamed whom thy Nesace. A model Thy will is done. of their heart) With speed that may not we know tire. And with pain that shall not part.

On the stars which your wonder Hath drawn from the skies.EDGAR ALLAN POE Through many a tempest. Or tufted wild spray That keeps from the dreamer The moonbeam away. they glance through the shade. to thee In thought that can alone Ascend thy empire and so be A partner of thy throne By winged Fantasy My embassy is given. in thought. 67 And here. Till secrecy shall knowledge be In the environs of Heaven. but she rode Beneath thy burning eye . and to your Till Come down Like brow eyes of the maiden calls Who on you now. SONG TO LIGEIA FROM 'AL AARAAF' 'NEATH blue-bell or streamer. Bright beings ! that ponder. Arise from your dreaming In violet bowers To duty beseeming These star-litten hours ! . With half-closing eyes.

without you.58 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF And shake from your tresses Encumbered with dew The breath of those kisses That cumber them too Oh. leave them apart : They are light on the tresses. Love Could angels be blest ? Those kisses of true love That lulled ye to rest Up shake from your wing ! ! ! Each hindering thing The dew of the night. how. capriciously Like the lone albatross. Oh. is it On thy will the breezes to toss still. ? Or. Incumbent on night (As she on the air) To keep watch with delight On the harmony there ? . harshest idea Will to melody run. Ligeia ! Ligeia ! My beautiful one ! Whose Oh. It would weigh down your ! flight . And true love caresses. But lead on the heart.

No magic shall sever Thy music from thee. On its margin Full many is sleeping a maid . Are the music of things. . Which leaps down to the flower And dances again In the rhythm of the shower. But are modelled. my dearest. Some have left the cool glade. But the strains still arise : Which thy vigilance keep The sound of the rain. hie thee away To springs that lie clearest Beneath the moon-ray. alas ! Away. Have mingled their shade. then. The murmur that springs From the growing of grass. creeping. Oh. To In lone lake that smiles. Thou hast bound many eyes In a dreamy sleep.EDGAR ALLAN POE Ligeia! wherever 59 Thy image may be. its dream of deep rest. star-isles its At the many That enjewel breast ! Where wild flowers. and Have slept with the bee .

preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart. On moorland and lea Go breathe on their slumber. whose wings are dull realities ? How should he love thee ? or how deem thee wise.60 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF Arouse them. As the spell which no slumber Of witchery may test. ! ! All softly in ear. The musical number They slumbered to hear For what can awaken : An angel so soon. my maiden. Who To seek wouldst not leave him in his wandering for treasure in the jewelled skies. Whose sleep hath been taken Beneath the cold moon. Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? . Who Why things with thy peering eyes. Vulture. The rhythmical number Which lulled him to rest? TO SCIENCE SCIENCE ! true daughter of Old alterest all Time thou art.

some solemn Some human memories and tearful lore. Newly with grass o'ergrown. The Elfin from the green grass. some incorporate is things. One sea and shore. and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind-tree ? SILENCE THERE are some qualities. Body and graces. And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star ? Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood. commend thyself to God ! . dwells in lonely places.EDGAR ALLAN POE 61 Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car. Bring That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod But should some urgent No foot of man). evinced in solid and shade. fate (untimely lot !) thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf.' He is the corporate Silence: dread him not : : No power hath he of evil in himself. is There a twofold Silence soul. That have a double life. Render him terrorless his name 's ' No More. which thus made A type of that twin entity which springs From matter and light.

lie) . that magical sad sound Transforming all Thy charms shall please no ! ! more Thy memory no more. an altered and an humble man. O purple Zante hyacin thine isle ! ! e Isola d'oro ! Fior di Levante ' ! THE COLISEUM TYPE of the antique Rome ! Rich reliquary ! Of lofty contemplation left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power At length at length after so many days Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst in thee (Thirst for the springs of lore that I kneel. that from the fairest of all flowers Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take. How many memories of what radiant hours At sight of thee and thine at once awake ! How many scenes of what departed bliss. How many thoughts of what entombed How many visions of a maiden that is hopes. No more no more upon thy verdant slopes No more ! alas.62 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF TO ZANTE FAIR isle. Accursed ground Henceforth I ! O hold thy flower-enamelled shore.

Here. now wave the reed and thistle Here. These mouldering plinths. Glides. where the mimic eagle glared in gold. O spells more sure than e'er Judsean king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars ! ! Here. a column falls . where on golden throne the monarch lolled. spectre-like. this wreck. and Age. The swift and silent lizard of the stones. I feel ye in your strength. These shattered cornices. These vague entablatures. this ruin. and glory. and Desolation. and so drink within 63 My very soul thy grandeur. Here. where the dames of Rome their gilded Waved to the wind. these ivy-clad arcades. this crumbling ! frieze. But stay these walls. these sad and blackened shafts. A midnight vigil hair holds the swarthy bat . unto his marble home.EDGAR ALLAN POE Amid thy shadows. Vastness. Lit by the wan light of the horned moon. and Memories of Eld ! ! Silence. . where a hero fell. . gloom. and dim Night I feel ye now.

and from all Ruin. the memories that hang upon all all all And cling around about us as a garment. and from out It was a July midnight : . Clothing us in a robe of more than glory. We rule With Not Not Not Not Not the hearts of mightiest men a despotic sway all giant minds. that.' TO HELEN I I SAW thee once once only years ago must not say how many but not many.silken veil of light. unto the wise. like thine own soul. A full-orbed moon. . soaring Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven. As melody from Memnon to the Sun. not all our fame.64 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF These stones alas ! these grey stones are they all. There fell a silvery. the magic of our high renown. the mysteries that in us lie. All of the famed and the colossal left By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me ' ? Not ' all the Echoes answer me ' not all ! Prophetic sounds and loud arise forever From us. pallid stones we : rule We are not impotent. we all all our power is gone. the wonder that encircles us.

upturned alas. to stir. unless on tiptoe on the upturned faces of these roses That gave out. : .EDGAR ALLAN POE sultriness and slumber. enchanted By thee. bear in mind this garden was enchanted !) The pearly lustre of the moon went out The mossy banks and the meandering paths. on this July midnight not Fate (whose it name is also Sorrow) That bade pause before that garden-gate breathe the incense of those slumbering roses footstep stirred : me ? No the hated world all slept. 65 With quietude and Where no wind dared Fell : Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death Fell : on the upturned faces of these roses That smiled and died in this parterre. in return for the love-light. And on thine own. Clad I all in white. upon a violet bank saw thee half reclining . (Ah. in sorrow ! Was Was To it not Fate. I paused. the upturned faces of a thousand Upon Roses that grew in an enchanted garden. that. ! Save only thee and me O Heaven O God ! How my heart ! beats in coupling those two words Save only thee and me. and by the poetry of thy presence. I looked. while the moon Fell on the upturned faces of the roses. And in an instant all things disappeared. The happy flowers and the repining trees.

Saw only them until the moon went down. a ghost. to be saved by their bright light. Lighting my lonely pathway home that night. How fathomless a capacity for love . : Died in the arms of the adoring All. ! But now. And They sanctified in their elysian fire fill . What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten I I : Upon those crystalline. dear Dian sank from sight. How dark a woe. far up in heaven.66 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF : Were seen no more the very roses' odours airs. Into a western couch of thunder-cloud . celestial spheres . are. yet how sublime a hope How silently serene a sea of pride How daring an ambition yet how deep. Their office is . the stars I kneel to my . And thou. saw only them for hours. all expired save thee save less than thou Save only the divine light in thine eyes. . to illumine and enkindle My duty. And purified in their electric fire. Only thine eyes remained : They would not go they never yet have gone . amid the entombing trees Didst glide away. Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes : saw but them they were the world to me saw but them. They have not left me (as my hopes have) since . And soul with beauty (which is hope). at length. . They follow me they lead me through the years They are my ministers yet I their slave.

remember The truest. who. thrills to think His spirit is communing with an angel's. oh. weeping. TO M. .EDGAR ALLAN POE In the sad. ' ! Of all who owe thee In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes . ' Let there be light At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled ! . For the resurrection of deep-buried faith In truth. S . ah above all. bless thee . for life. The blotting utterly from out high heaven The sacred sun of all who. silent watches of my night. in humanity Of all who. the most fervently devoted. most. 67 While even in the meridian glare of day two sweetly scintillant I see them still Venuses. on despair's unhallowed bed Lying down to die. in virtue. unextinguished by the sun. Hourly for hope. have suddenly arisen At thy soft-murmured words. whose gratitude Nearest resembles worship. as he pens them. OF all who hail thy presence as the morning Of all to whom thine absence is the night. And think that these weak lines are written by him: By him. L.

This standing motionless upon the golden Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams. I cannot write I I Alas. vista.' Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart Unthought-like thoughts.THE LYRICAL POEMS OF TO NOT long ago the In the writer of these lines. two foreign soft dissyllables. pride of intellectuality. Maintained ' the power of words' denied that ever mad A thought arose within Two the human brain : Beyond the utterance of the human tongue And now. And I my spells The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand With thy dear name as text. far diviner visions Than even the seraph (Who Could has 'the '). though bidden by thee. Gazing entranced adown the gorgeous And thrilling as I see. upon the right. for 'tis not feeling. as if in mockery of that boast. made only to be murmured * By angels dreaming in the moonlit dew That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill. cannot feel cannot speak or think . Richer. Italian tones. that are the souls of thought. . harper. words. utter. . far wilder. Israfel sweetest voice of all God's are creatures hope to broken .

. and all the way along. far away To where the prospect terminates thee 6 only. Shall find her own sweet name. Do not forget The trivialest point. or And If yet there is in this you may lose your labour no Gordian knot a sabre. enwrapped from every reader. Search well the measure The words the syllables. You will not read the riddle. Mendez Ferdinando. : Which one might not undo without one could merely comprehend the plot. Cease trying Still form a synonym for Truth. whose luminous Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda. though you do the ! best you can do. as the name is a poet's. there lie perdus Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing Of poets. a talisman. this rhyme is penned. by poets Its letters. Search narrowly the lines they hold a treasure Upon ! Divine. too. Amid empurpled vapours. although naturally lying Like the knight Pinto. Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering Eyes scintillating soul. that nestling lies the page. an amulet That must be worn at heart. A VALENTINE FOR her eyes.EDGAR ALLAN POE Upon the left.

TO ONE THOU wast all IN PARADISE For which my that to me. ephemeral. Sol is right enough. you may depend upon it. A fountain and a shrine All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers.70 THE LYRICAL POEMS OF AN ENIGMA ' SELDOM we find/ says Solomon Don Dunce. Ah. ! ! . it. starry Hope. soul did pine : A green isle in the sea. dream too bright to last Ah. veritably. all by dint Stable. love. that didst arise But to be overcast A voice from out the Future cries. immortal Of the dear names that lie concealed within 't. Bubbles. And all the flowers were mine. ! Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con And. opaque. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet Trash of all trash how can a lady don it ? Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff. and so transparent But this is.' The general tuckermanities are arrant . now. love. ' Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.

Or the And all my days are trances. And where thy footstep gleams In what ethereal dances. By what eternal streams.EDGAR ALLAN POE ' 71 On ! on ' ! but o'er the Past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute. alas where grows Not even one lonely rose). aghast. For. My soul at least a solace hath In dreams of thee. motionless. TO ! F- BELOVED amid the earnest woes That crowd around my earthly path (Drear path. alas ! alas ! with is me o'er ! The light of Life no more (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall No more no more bloom the thunder-blasted stricken eagle soar. and therein knows ! An Eden of bland repose. . tree. And all my nightly dreams Are where thy grey eye glances.

72

THE LYRICAL POEMS OF
And
thus thy

memory

is

to

me

Like some enchanted far-off isle In some tumultuous sea, Some ocean throbbing far and free With storms, but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually Just o'er that one bright island smile.

TO F

s S.

O

d

THOU wouldst be loved ? then let thy heart From its present pathway part not Being everything which now thou art,
:

Be nothing which thou art not. So with the world thy gentle ways, Thy grace, thy more than beauty, Shall be an endless theme of praise,

And

love

a simple duty.

TO
I

HEED not that

Hath

little

my earthly lot of Earth in it,
:

That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute
I

mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I,
for

But that you sorrow

my

fate

Who am

a passer-by.

EDGAR ALLAN POE

73

TO MY MOTHER
BECAUSE
I feel that, in

the Heavens above,

The
Can

angels, whispering to one another, find among their burning terms of love

None
you

so devotional as that of

'

Mother/

Therefore by that dear

name

I

long have called

You who

are

more than mother unto me,

And

fill

my

heart of hearts, where Death in-

stalled

you

In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother, my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you

Are mother to the one

I

loved so dearly,
I

And

By Was dearer

thus are dearer than the mother that infinity with which my wife
to

knew

my

soul than

its soul-life.

TO HELEN
HELEN, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicaean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,

The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

74

EDGAR ALLAN POE
On
desperate seas long wont to roam,

Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs, have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo
!

in

yon

brilliant

window-niche

How

statue-like I see thee stand,
!

The agate lamp within thy hand

Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land!

Printed

by

T.

and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty

at the Edinburgh University Press

. Heinemanii's beautiful ' little series.' Gazette. and easy to read. classics. and be thankful for. Heinemann has beaten take to the theatre with you. with interesting photogravure frontisLadies' Field. and the frontisManchester and type are excellent. the paper of excellent quality. the print is legible. criticism. charmingly bound and splendidly printed on good paper.' 'This edition of "Elia" adds to the attractions of Heinemann's Favourite Classics. ' ' in appearance Mr.' 'That wonderful .' The World. the price is only sixpence. convenient. 'Beautiful little books. series of sixpenny reprints of the classics.' Birmingham Post. Admirably convenient tne nignest commendai tor the pocket. A series of reprints which and material compares very favourably with its more expensive rivals.' Courier. The size is most convenient. really marvellous productions. .' Glasgow Herald. 3 all records for a Shakespeare to The Queen. and the binding extremely tasteful. A The St. ' They mark The form quite a new era in cheap reprints.' Liverpool Courier. ' 1 thing to wonder at.' Glasgow 'An ideal edition to carry about. . dainty and admirably printed. Heinemann's wonderful Favourite Classics. pieces.' Daily Telegraph. ' ' A charming little edition of Shakespeare's Flays. This charming library must remain in the very front rank of popular reprints.' Sheffield Independent Deserves the highest commendation. the covers artistic. They are excellently printed.HEINEMANN'S FAVOURITE CLASSICS A CONSENSUS OF CRITICAL OPINION These dainty volumes are the latest addition to Mr. James's Liverpool Post 'Mr. The prefatory essay is in each case a gem of concentrated The little books are in every way admirable. which are also the world's cheapest Notes and Queries. excellence. Most wonderful of all. ' is piece.' Marvels of combined cheapness and Herald. illustrations. and they are adorned by a photogravure frontispiece.' Morning Leader.' The Liverpool Daily Courier.

plain to read little books. Mr. The prefaces of Dr.HEINEMANJSTS FAVOURITE CLASSICS SOME PRESS OPINIONS Mr. clear type are the top thing of the . : Professor C. They are certainly admirable in every way. It was a happy thought to reproduce the old Professor Walter Raleigh. and the text the best available. Max Nordau.' clearness of type. The edition is indeed a triumph. Mr. The appearance of it is A Novelist. These are eminently desirable paper. indeed? may have every success. than which nothing can be pleasanter or more attractive. As to the print. pleasant to look at. Gilbert Murray. I came on the. Mr. Edmund Gosse. Swinburne. label stating that they each. It is a marvellous The get-up is wonderful. It is very light. I like the paper. Austin Dobson. binding. J. Although Shakespeare has been reprinted in a thousand forms. handy. I think the little Shakespeares quite wonderful. William Archer. much The Editor of 'Notes and Queries. I was genuinely astonished when A Headmaster. Herford. prettiness of 'get-up. Mr. the volumes is as dainty as it is a pleasure to the eye to dwell on it. Watts-Dunton desires me Many thanks for your most to say beautiful how thoroughly he little books. You have surpassed yourself. and general daintiness of appearance. H. I consider your handy edition of Shakespeare in every The Editor of 'The Fortnightly Review. Dr.' The edition is wonderfully cheap and and the illustrations constitute a striking and attractive feature. It certainly deserves the widest popularity. Good ' I hope they What needs my Shakespeare' now. it seems to me that these little volumes present the plays in the most graceful and delicate way that has hitherto been achieved. and the portraits volumes will be of real service to me in saving the heavy labour of taking the Cambridge Shakespeare to and fro. For handiness. Greta. and Brandes's introductions are admirable. The type is very clear and easy to read. and I think you are a benefactor to the public at large. T. sort nothing cheap about them but the They price. they make a much better illustration than fancy portraits of actors could do. light to handle. It is a service at once to the poet and to the public to bring out such an edition at such a price. irreproachably prefaced. and takes the were sixpence print well . respect excellent. Good luck to the venture I 1 A Dramatic Critic. C. edition. agrees with my estimation of their unrivalled beauty. pretty. : am quite fascinated by the beautiful and the elegant form of the little books. your new Shakespeare is unique. to lecture-rooms and such places. Brandes enhance the value of the volumes. Mr. Mr. extraordinarily attractive and readable.' I admire them very indeed. A.

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