The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 1

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 163

gang of low ruffians not far from
her mother's door. 'It is impossible,' it urges, 'that a person so well
known to thousands as this young woman was, should have passed three
blocks without some one having seen her.' This is the idea of a man long
resident in Paris--a public man--and one whose walks to and fro in the
city, have been mostly limited to the vicinity of the public offices.
He is aware that he seldom passes so far as a dozen blocks from his own
bureau, without being recognized and accosted. And, knowing the extent
of his personal acquaintance with others, and of others with him, he
compares his notoriety with that of the perfumery-girl, finds no great
difference between them, and reaches at once the conclusion that she, in
her walks, would be equally liable to recognition with himself in
his. This could only be the case were her walks of the same unvarying,
methodical character, and within the same species of limited region
as are his own. He passes to and fro, at regular intervals, within a
confined periphery, abounding in individuals who are led to observation
of his person through interest in the kindred nature of his occupation
with their own. But the walks of Marie may, in general, be supposed
discursive. In this particular instance, it will be understood as most
probable, that she proceeded upon a route of more than average diversity
from her accustomed ones. The parallel which we imagine to have existed
in the mind of Le Commerciel would only be sustained in the event of the
two individuals' traversing the whole city. In this case, granting the
personal acquaintances to be equal, the chances would be also equal that
an equal number of personal rencounters would be made. For my own
part, I should hold it not only as possible, but as very far more than
probable, that Marie might have proceeded, at any given period, by any
one of the many routes between her own residence and that of her aunt,
without meeting a single individual whom she knew, or by whom she was
known. In viewing this question in its full and proper light, we must
hold steadily in mind the great disproportion between the personal
acquaintances of even the most noted individual in Paris, and the entire
population of Paris itself.

"But whatever force there may still appear to be in the suggestion of Le
Commerciel, will be much diminished when we take into consideration the
hour at which the girl went abroad. 'It was when the streets were full
of people,'

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Text Comparison with The Bells, and Other Poems

Page 0
---- (O! I care not that my earthly lot)_ _The Conqueror Worm_ _Sonnet--To Zante_ _To M.
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
I _have been_ happy, tho' in a dream.
Page 11
I saw but them--they were the world to me! I saw but them--saw only them for hours, Saw only them until the moon went 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 15
now, as the night was senescent, And star-dials pointed to morn-- As the star-dials hinted of morn-- At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn-- Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn.
Page 22
A dome, by linked light from Heaven let down, Sat gently on these columns as a crown-- A window of one circular diamond, there, Look'd out above into the purple air, And rays from God shot down that meteor chain And hallow'd all the beauty twice again, Save when, between th' Empyrean and that ring, Some eager spirit flapp'd his dusky wing.
Page 23
gushing music as they fell In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell; Yet silence came upon material things-- Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings-- And sound alone that from the spirit sprang Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang: "'Neath the blue-bell or streamer-- Or tufted wild spray That keeps, from the dreamer, The moonbeam away-- Bright beings! that ponder, With half closing eyes, On the stars which your wonder Hath drawn from the skies, Till they glance thro' the shade, and Come down to your brow Like----eyes of the maiden Who calls on you now-- Arise! from your dreaming In violet bowers, To duty beseeming These star-litten hours-- And shake from your tresses Encumber'd with dew The breath of those kisses That cumber them too-- (O! how, without you, Love! Could angels be blest?) Those kisses of true Love That lull'd ye to rest! Up!--shake from your wing Each hindering thing: The dew of the night-- It would weigh down your flight; And true love caresses-- O, leave them apart! They are light on the tresses, But lead on the heart.
Page 25
"The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon Was a proud temple called the Parthenon; More beauty clung around her column'd wall Than ev'n thy glowing bosom beats withal, And when old Time my wing did disenthral Thence sprang I--as the eagle from his tower, And years.
Page 26
And my lord he loves me well; But, when first he breathed his vow, I felt my.
Page 29
] 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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fervid, flickering torch of life was lit From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth A passionate light--such for his spirit was fit-- And yet that spirit knew not, in the hour Of its own fervour--what had o'er it power.
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And they say (the starry choir And the other listening things) That Israfeli's fire Is owing to that lyre By which he sits and sings-- The trembling living wire Of those unusual strings.
Page 32
They use that moon no more For the same end as before-- Videlicet a tent-- Which I think extravagant: Its atomies, however, Into a shower dissever, Of which those butterflies, Of Earth, who seek the skies, And so come down again (Never-contented things!) Have brought a specimen Upon their quivering wings.
Page 34
And ah!.
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_ALONE_ From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring.
Page 36
My passions, from that hapless hour, Usurp'd a tyranny which men Have deem'd since I have reach'd to power, My innate nature--be it.
Page 37
Young Love's first lesson is--the heart: For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles, When, from our little cares apart, And laughing at her girlish wiles, I'd throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears-- There was no need to speak the rest-- No need to quiet any fears Of her--who ask'd no reason why, But turned on me her quiet eye! Yet _more_ than worthy of the love My spirit struggled with, and strove, When, on the mountain peak, alone, Ambition lent it a new tone-- I had no being--but in thee: The world, and all it did contain In the earth--the air--the sea-- Its joy--its little lot of pain That was new pleasure--the ideal, Dim vanities of dreams by night-- And dimmer nothings which were real-- (Shadows--and a more shadowy light!) Parted upon their misty wings, And, so, confusedly, became Thine image, and--a name--a name! Two separate--yet most intimate things.
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Look'round thee now on Samarcand! Is not she queen of Earth? her pride Above all cities? in her hand Their destinies? in all beside Of glory which the world hath known Stands she not nobly and alone? Falling--her veriest stepping-stone Shall form the pedestal of a throne-- And who her sovereign? Timour--he Whom the astonished people saw Striding o'er empires haughtily A diadem'd outlaw! O, human love! thou spirit given, On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven! Which fall'st into the soul like rain Upon the Siroc-wither'd plain, And, failing in thy power to bless, But leav'st the heart a wilderness! Idea! which bindest life around With music of so strange a sound, And beauty of so wild a birth-- Farewell! for I have won the Earth.
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.