The Poetical Works ...: With Memoir and VindicationW. J. Widdleton, 1876 - 190 pages |
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Page 32
... To set this question at rest forever , I have obtained permission to quote the following passages of a letter received from Mrs. Whitman in August , 1873 : " No such scene as that described by Dr. Griswold 32 EDGAR A. POE.
... To set this question at rest forever , I have obtained permission to quote the following passages of a letter received from Mrs. Whitman in August , 1873 : " No such scene as that described by Dr. Griswold 32 EDGAR A. POE.
Page 71
... rest . There shrines and palaces and towers ( Time - eaten towers that tremble not ! ) Resemble nothing that is ours . Around , by lifting winds forgot , Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie . No rays from the holy ...
... rest . There shrines and palaces and towers ( Time - eaten towers that tremble not ! ) Resemble nothing that is ours . Around , by lifting winds forgot , Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie . No rays from the holy ...
Page 73
... rest ; Looking like Lethe , see ! the lake A conscious slumber seems to take , And would not , for the world , awake . All Beauty sleeps ! and lo ! where lies ( Her casement open to the skies ) Irene , with her Destinies ! Oh , lady ...
... rest ; Looking like Lethe , see ! the lake A conscious slumber seems to take , And would not , for the world , awake . All Beauty sleeps ! and lo ! where lies ( Her casement open to the skies ) Irene , with her Destinies ! Oh , lady ...
Page 84
... rest so composed Now , in my bed , That any beholder Might fancy me dead Might start at beholding me , Thinking me dead . The moaning and groaning , The sighing and sobbing Are 84 FOR ANNIE . He might not sing so wildly well ...
... rest so composed Now , in my bed , That any beholder Might fancy me dead Might start at beholding me , Thinking me dead . The moaning and groaning , The sighing and sobbing Are 84 FOR ANNIE . He might not sing so wildly well ...
Page 87
... fancy me dead And I rest so contentedly , Now in my bed , VERSACEKZ ( With her love at my breast ) That you fancy me dead That you shudder to look at me , Thinking me dead : But my heart it is brighter Than all of the FOR ANNIE . 87.
... fancy me dead And I rest so contentedly , Now in my bed , VERSACEKZ ( With her love at my breast ) That you fancy me dead That you shudder to look at me , Thinking me dead : But my heart it is brighter Than all of the FOR ANNIE . 87.
Common terms and phrases
Al Aaraaf Aless amid angels ANNABEL LEE art not gone Auber Baldazzar beauty bells biographer bird breast breath bright Broadway Journal Castiglione Clemm dead death deep didst door dost dream Earl of Leicester Earth Edgar Edgar Poe fair fancy feel flowers gentle glory golden Graham Graham's Magazine Griswold happy hath HAUNTED PALACE hear heart Heaven hope Israfel Jacinta lady lake Lalage Lenore letter Ligeia light literary lone love thee Magazine maiden melody moon never Nevermore night o'er odors Pabodie Poe's poem poet Poetic Principle poetical poetry Politian Quoth the Raven Raven Say nay shadow sigh skies sleep smile song sorrow soul sound speak spirit stars statement sweet tears things thou art thou hast thro throne tonian truth Ulalume unto Virginia Clemm voice wild wilt wind wing words writes
Popular passages
Page 41 - Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore: Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never — nevermore.
Page 42 - Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!
Page 43 - thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.
Page 63 - And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.
Page 180 - One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains...
Page 44 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, . And 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...
Page 169 - That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For...
Page 42 - This I sat engaged in guessing, But no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now Burned into my bosom's core ; This and more I sat divining, With my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining That the lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining With the lamplight gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore I Then methought the air grew denser, Perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls Tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch...
Page 40 - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling. By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
Page 69 - On! on!"— but o'er the Past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast! For, alas! alas! with me The light of Life is o'er! "No more — no more...