Poetical Works of Edgar Allan PoeG. Routledge & Sons Limited, 1869 - 271 pages |
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Page 150
... hath declined , Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find ; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted It shrunk not to share it with me , And the love which my spirit hath painted It never hath found but ...
... hath declined , Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find ; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted It shrunk not to share it with me , And the love which my spirit hath painted It never hath found but ...
Page 167
... hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken ! —quit the bust above my door ! Take thy beak from out my heart , and take thy form from off my door ! " Quoth the Raven , " Nevermore . " And the Raven , never flitting , still is sitting ...
... hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken ! —quit the bust above my door ! Take thy beak from out my heart , and take thy form from off my door ! " Quoth the Raven , " Nevermore . " And the Raven , never flitting , still is sitting ...
Page 169
... hath " gone before , " with Hope , that flew beside , Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride- For her , the fair and debonair , that now so lowly lies , The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes ...
... hath " gone before , " with Hope , that flew beside , Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride- For her , the fair and debonair , that now so lowly lies , The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes ...
Page 196
... to God that Forever with unope While the dim shee My love , she sleeps As it is lasting , so Soft may the worm Far in the forest , d For her may some he vault that oft hath flung its black I winged THE SLEEPER . The Sleeper,
... to God that Forever with unope While the dim shee My love , she sleeps As it is lasting , so Soft may the worm Far in the forest , d For her may some he vault that oft hath flung its black I winged THE SLEEPER . The Sleeper,
Page 201
... hath forbid The uplifting of the fringed lid ; And thus the sad Soul that here passes Beholds it but through darkened glasses . By a route obscure and lonely , Haunted by ill angels only , Where an Eidolon , named NIGHT , On a black ...
... hath forbid The uplifting of the fringed lid ; And thus the sad Soul that here passes Beholds it but through darkened glasses . By a route obscure and lonely , Haunted by ill angels only , Where an Eidolon , named NIGHT , On a black ...
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Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe Edgar Allan Poe,Nathaniel Parker Willis,John Henry Ingram No preview available - 2016 |
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admired Al Aaraaf alluded angels ANNABEL LEE appeared beautiful bells bird Broadway Journal chamber door character Clemm Conchology critical critique dear death dream Edgar Allan Poe Edgar Poe Elizabeth Barrett Browning excitement eyes fair fame fancy feel flowers Fordham genius gentle Graham's Graham's Magazine Gris Griswold hath Haunted Palace heart Heaven honor hope Journal knew lady Lalage Lenore letter Ligeia light literary magazine memory ment Mesmeric Revelations Messenger mind moon mother N. P. Willis nature never Nevermore night o'er Pabodie Passion Poe's poem poet poet's Poetic Principle poetical poetry Politian poor published Raven remarks Richmond seemed smile song soul speak spirit stars story strange sweet thee thine thing thou tion true truth Ulalume unto voice Whitman wife Willis wonderful words writings written
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Page 162 - Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore: Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore !
Page 148 - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Page 160 - 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?" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore...
Page 161 - 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 157 - OXCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — "While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this and nothing more.
Page 180 - Hear the tolling of the bells, 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 of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a .groan.
Page 179 - Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells Of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells In the clamor...
Page 182 - A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful ANNABEL LEE ; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.
Page 145 - Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! O, it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none.
Page 185 - And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace door, Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling evermore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing, In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king.