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

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 181

death's mystery,
Swift to be hurl'd--
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly,
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran,--
Over the brink of it,
Picture it,--think of it,
Dissolute Man!
Lave in it, drink of it
Then, if you can!

Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family--
Wipe those poor lips of hers
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!
Oh! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly,
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.

Take her up tenderly;
Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!

Dreadfully staring
Through muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fixed on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest,--
Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!
Owning her weakness,
Her evil behavior,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour!

The vigor of this poem is no less remarkable than its pathos. The
versification, although carrying the fanciful to the very verge of the
fantastic, is nevertheless admirably adapted to the wild insanity which
is the thesis of the poem.

Among the minor poems of Lord Byron is one which has never received from
the critics the praise which it undoubtedly deserves:

Though the day of my destiny's over,
And the star of my fate hath declined,
Thy soft heart refused to discover

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Text Comparison with Ιστορίες αλλόκοτες

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A footnote has been converted to endnote.
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Μία φλόγα εύμορφη και ÎµÏÎ¸Ï Î¼Î· εστριφογύριζε μέσα στο τζάκι.
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— Είναι εδικόν σας σύστημα; ηρώτησα.
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Ωσαύτως τροποποιήσεις τινές οφείλονται εις τον περίφημον Î Î»Î¿Ï Î¼, όστις, εάν δεν απατώμαι, είναι επιστήθιος φίλος σας.
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Αλλά τούτο δεν διήρκεσε παρά ολίγον χρόνον και εσβέσθη αιφνιδίως.
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Αιφνιδίως φρικτή σκέψις Î¼Î¿Ï Ï€Î±ÏÎ­ÏƒÏ ÏÎµ κατά κύματα το αίμα εις την καρδιά Î¼Î¿Ï , και επί τινα καιρόν ξανάπεσα και πάλιν εις την αναισθησίαν.
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Αλλά δεν ÎµÏ ÏÎ¯ÏƒÎºÎµÏ„Î¿ εκεί· αντικατέστησαν τα φορέματά Î¼Î¿Ï Î¼Îµ ένα μανδύαν από Ï€ÏÏŒÏƒÏ„Ï Ï‡Î·Î½ λινάτσαν.
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Ήδη πολλοί ÎºÎ¿Î»Ï Î¼Î²Î·Ï„Î±Î¯ εκ των αρίστων Ï Ï€ÎµÏ‡ÏŽÏÎ¿Ï Î½ με βαθείαν Î±Ï€Î¿Î¸Î¬ÏÏÏ Î½ÏƒÎ¹Î½.
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Ο πληγωμένος αητός δεν θα ξαναπετάξη!» *** Ένα ÏƒÏ Î½ÎµÏ‡Î­Ï‚ ούρλισμα είν' η ζωή Î¼Î¿Ï ÎšÎ±Î¹ όλα των Î½Ï ÎºÏ„ÏŽÎ½ Î¼Î¿Ï Ï„Î± όνειρα Î Î·Î³Î±Î¯Î½Î¿Ï Î½ εκεί, προς την βαθειά λάμψι των ματιών ÏƒÎ¿Ï , Εκεί Ï€Î¿Ï Ï„Î± πόδια ÏƒÎ¿Ï Î±Î½Ï„Î±Î½Î±ÎºÎ»ÏŽÎ½Ï„Î±Î¹, Μέσα σ' ένα αιθέριο χορό Σ' ένα Ιταλικό ποτάμι.
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ομιλεί ο λόρδος Βερούλαμ.
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Και τότε ήρχισε ν' ανοίγη βραδέως, βραδέως Ï„Î¿Ï Ï‚ οφθαλμούς.
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η σκέψις μας πιέζει ν' αποφύγωμεν τον ÎºÎ¯Î½Î´Ï Î½Î¿Î½, και Î±Ï Ï„Î® αρκεί πάλιν να μας καταστήση Î±Î½Î¹ÎºÎ¬Î½Î¿Ï Ï‚.
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Έχομεν αρκετά ÎºÎ¿Ï ÏÎ±ÏƒÏ„Î¹ÎºÎ®Î½ μονοτονίαν από Ï„Î¿Ï Ï‚ χορούς Î±Ï Ï„Î¿ÏÏ‚.
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Φαντάζομαι πως θα ήτο ο παπαγάλος εις το Ï€Î±ÏÎ¬Î¸Ï ÏÎ¿Î½, και ÎµÎºÏ„Ï Ï€Î¿ÏÏƒÎµ το ράμφος Ï„Î¿Ï ÎµÎ¹Ï‚ τα σιδηρά σύρματα Ï„Î¿Ï ÎºÎ»Ï‰Î²Î¿Ï Ï„Î¿Ï .
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Αλλά δεν ήργησα να εννοήσω ότι εκιτρίνιζα και ότι ÎµÏ€Î¹Î¸Ï Î¼Î¿ÏÏƒÎ± να Ï„Î¿Ï Ï‚ ίδω να Ï†ÎµÏÎ³Î¿Ï Î½.
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Δεν ημπορούσα να ίδω το πρόσωπον εκείνο Ï€Î¿Ï Î¼' εσήκωσε.
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θα ÎµÏ ÏÎ¯ÏƒÎºÎµÏ„Î¿ μέσα εις τα χέρια Î¼Î¿Ï .
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Όταν ενεφανίσθησαν εις την σάλαν, κανείς δεν ημπορούσε να Ï„Î¿Ï Ï‚ αναγνωρίση.