The Bells, and Other Poems

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 29

Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine!






_TO ---- ----_

[Mrs. Marie Louise Shew.]


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

[Illustration: To ---- ---- (Mrs. Maris Louise Shew)]






_EVENING STAR_


'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold--too cold for me--
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turn'd away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.






_STANZAS_

How often we forget all time, when lone
Admiring Nature's universal throne;
Her woods--her wilds--her mountains--the intense
Reply of HERS to OUR intelligence!

[BYRON, _The Island_.]


1

In youth have I known one with whom the Earth
In secret communing held--as he with it,
In daylight, and in beauty from his birth:
Whose

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Text Comparison with The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 5

Page 0
Osgood Eldorado Eulalie A Dream within a Dream To Marie Louise (Shew) To the Same The City in the Sea The Sleeper Bridal Ballad Notes Poems of Manhood Lenore To One in Paradise The Coliseum The Haunted Palace The Conqueror Worm Silence Dreamland Hymn To Zante Scenes from "Politian" Note Poems of Youth Introduction (1831) Sonnet--To Science Al Aaraaf Tamerlane To Helen The Valley of Unrest Israfel To -- ("The Bowers Whereat, in Dreams I See") To -- ("I Heed not That my Earthly Lot") .
Page 1
The Dutch have, perhaps, an indeterminate idea that a curtain is not a cabbage.
Page 5
The drapery is thrown open also, or closed, by means of a thick rope of gold loosely enveloping it, and resolving itself readily into a knot; no pins or other such devices are apparent.
Page 15
But although Hop-Frog, through the distortion of his legs, could move only with great pain and difficulty along a road or floor, the prodigious muscular power which nature seemed to have bestowed upon his arms, by way of compensation for deficiency in the lower limbs, enabled him to perform many feats of wonderful dexterity, where trees or ropes were in question, or any thing else to climb.
Page 18
Come! what is the diversion?" "We call it," replied the cripple, "the Eight Chained Ourang-Outangs, and it really is excellent sport if well enacted.
Page 29
many and capricious that scarce the semblance of a passage was discernible between them.
Page 41
sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went beyond "Od rot me," or "By gosh," or "By the jolly golly,")--"Od rot me," says he, "if I don't send an order to town this very afternoon for a double box of the best that can be got, and I'll make ye a present of it, I will!--ye needn't say a word now--I will, I tell ye, and there's an end of it; so look out for it--it will come to hand some of these fine days, precisely when ye are looking for it the least!" I mention this little bit of liberality on the part of Mr.
Page 61
His large water-dog was acquainted with the fact, and upon the approach of his master, betrayed his sense of inferiority by a sanctity of deportment, a debasement of the ears, and a dropping of the lower jaw not altogether unworthy of a dog.
Page 67
I liked him as much for his terrible ill temper, as for his happy knack at making a blunder.
Page 74
It is possible, however, that, but for the Brown Stout, I might have been a little.
Page 82
While I was thinking how I should answer this question, little Doctor Ponnonner committed himself in a very extraordinary way.
Page 95
The oriole should build and tell His love-tale, close beside my cell; The idle butterfly Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife-bee and humming bird.
Page 97
It was by no means my design, however, to expatiate upon the _merits _of what I should.
Page 118
Hear the loud alarum bells-- Brazen bells! What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to.
Page 131
] FOR ANNIE Thank Heaven! the crisis-- The danger is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last-- And the fever called "Living" Is conquered at last.
Page 154
Then see to it!--pay more attention, sir, To a becoming carriage--much thou wantest In dignity.
Page 155
'Tis his first visit To the imperial city.
Page 197
" He was a goodly spirit--he who fell: A wanderer by moss-y-mantled well-- A gazer on the lights that shine above-- A dreamer in the moonbeam by his love: What wonder? For each star is eye-like there, And looks so sweetly down on Beauty's hair-- And they, and ev'ry mossy spring were holy To his love-haunted heart and melancholy.
Page 206
What tho' the moon--the white moon Shed all the splendour of her noon, Her smile is chilly--and her beam, In that time of dreariness, will seem (So like you gather in your breath) .
Page 209
But the skies that angel trod, Where deep thoughts are a duty-- Where Love's a grown up God-- Where the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty .