The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe Including Essays on Poetry

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 140

in the operations of Deity, it is scarcely
logical to imagine it confined to the regions of the minute, where we
daily trace it, and not extending to those of the august. As we find
cycle within cycle without end, yet all revolving around one far-distant
centre which is the Godhead, may we not analogically suppose, in the
same manner, life within life, the less within the greater, and all
within the Spirit Divine? In short, we are madly erring through
self-esteem in believing man, in either his temporal or future
destinies, to be of more moment in the universe than that vast "clod of
the valley" which he tills and contemns, and to which he denies a soul,
for no more profound reason than that he does not behold it in operation
[2].

These fancies, and such as these, have always given to my meditations
among the mountains and the forests, by the rivers and the ocean, a
tinge of what the every-day world would not fail to term the fantastic.
My wanderings amid such scenes have been many and far-searching, and
often solitary; and the interest with which I have strayed through many
a dim deep valley, or gazed into the reflected heaven of many a bright
lake, has been an interest greatly deepened by the thought that I have
strayed and gazed _alone._ What flippant Frenchman [3] was it who said,
in allusion to the well known work of Zimmermann, that _"la solitude est
une belle chose; mais il faut quelqu'un pour vous dire que la solitude
est une belle chose"_? The epigram cannot be gainsaid; but the necessity
is a thing that does not exist.

It was during one of my lonely journeyings, amid a far distant region of
mountain locked within mountain, and sad rivers and melancholy tarns
writhing or sleeping within all, that I chanced upon a certain rivulet
and island. I came upon them suddenly in the leafy June, and threw
myself upon the turf beneath the branches of an unknown odorous shrub,
that I might doze as I contemplated the scene. I felt that thus only
should I look upon it, such was the character of phantasm which it wore.

On all sides, save to the west where the sun was about sinking, arose
the verdant walls of the forest. The little river which turned sharply
in its course, and was thus immediately lost to sight, seemed to have no
exit from its prison, but to be absorbed by the deep green foliage of
the trees to the east; while in the opposite quarter (so it appeared

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Text Comparison with The Bells, and Other Poems

Page 4
I was a child and _she_ was a child, In this kingdom.
Page 5
The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me-- Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
Page 8
" "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!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
Page 9
Shall be lifted--nevermore! [Illustration: The Raven] _TO ONE IN PARADISE_ Thou wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine-- A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine.
Page 10
But should it be--that dream eternally Continuing--as dreams have been to me In my young boyhood--should it thus be given, 'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
Page 11
They are my ministers--yet I their slave.
Page 13
blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down.
Page 14
length of tress, And this all solemn silentness! The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, Which is enduring, so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep! This chamber changed for one more holy, This bed for one more melancholy, I pray to God that she may lie For ever with unopened eye, While the pale sheeted ghosts go by! My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep As it is lasting, so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold-- Some vault that oft has flung its black And wingèd panels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals-- Some sepulchre, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone-- Some tomb from out whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more, Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! It was the dead who groaned within.
Page 17
the tamarind tree? _ELDORADO_ Gaily bedight, A gallant knight.
Page 18
S.
Page 20
erst it sham'd All other loveliness:--its honied dew (The fabled nectar that the heathen knew) Deliriously sweet, was dropp'd from Heaven.
Page 21
PART II.
Page 24
On the harmony there? Ligeia! wherever Thy image may be, No magic shall sever Thy music from thee.
Page 27
bosom swell-- For the words rang as a knell, And the voice seemed _his_ who fell In the battle down the dell, And who is happy now.
Page 29
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.
Page 30
_SPIRITS OF THE DEAD_ Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy.
Page 32
birds, Are lips--and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words-- Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined, Then desolately fall, O God! on my funereal mind Like starlight on a pall-- Thy heart--_thy_ heart!--I wake and sigh, And sleep to dream till day Of the truth that gold can never buy-- Of the baubles that it may.
Page 37
I have no words--alas!--to tell The loveliness of loving well! Nor would I now attempt to trace The more than beauty of a face Whose lineaments, upon my mind, Are----shadows on th' unstable wind Thus I remember having dwelt Some page of early lore upon, With loitering eye, till I have felt The letters--with their meaning--melt To fantasies--with none.
Page 38
'Twas sunset: when the sun will part There comes a sullenness of heart To him who still would look upon The glory of the summer sun.
Page 39
And boyhood is a summer sun Whose waning is the dreariest one-- For all we live to know is known, And all we seek to keep hath flown-- Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall With the noon-day beauty--which is all.