Collected Works of Poe - Edgar Allan Poe (best fiction books to read .TXT) 📗

1845. The earliest version of these lines appeared in the "Southern Literary Messenger" for September, 1835, as "Lines written in an Album," and was addressed to Eliza White, the proprietor's daughter. Slightly revised, the poem reappeared in Burton's "Gentleman's Magazine" for August, 1839, as "To--."

Although "Eldorado" was published during Poe's lifetime, in 1849, in the "Flag of our Union," it does not appear to have ever received the author's finishing touches.

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End of Poems of Later Life

POEMS OF MANHOOD

LENORE

AH broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll! - a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear? - weep now or never more! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the burial rite be read - the funeral song be sung! - An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young - A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, "And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her - that she died! "How shall the ritual, then, be read? - the requiem how be sung "By you - by yours, the evil eye, - by yours, the slanderous tongue "That did to death the innocent that died, and died so young?"

Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel so wrong! The sweet Lenore 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 - The life still there, upon her hair - the death upon her eyes.

"Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise, "But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days! "Let no bell toll! - lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth, "Should catch the note, as it doth float - up from the damned Earth. "To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven - "From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven - "From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven."

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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 shrime, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last! Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise But to be overcast! A voice from out the Future cries, "On! on!" -- but o'er the Past (Dim guld!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, mothionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! with me The light of Life is o'er! No more -- no more -- no more -- (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder0blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams -- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.

1835.

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THE COLISEUM.

TYPE of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary Of lofty contemplation left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length - at length - after so many days Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst, (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an altered and an humble man, Amid thy shadows, and so drink within My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night! I feel ye now - I feel ye in your strength - O spells more sure than e'er Jud�an king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle! Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled, Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home, Lit by the wanlight <wan light of the horned moon, The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

But stay! these walls - these ivy-clad arcades - These mouldering plinths - these sad and blackened shafts - These vague entablatures - this crumbling frieze - These shattered cornices - this wreck - this ruin - These stones - alas! these gray stones - are they all - All of the famed, and the colossal left By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

"Not all" - the Echoes answer me - "not all! "Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever "From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, "As melody from Memnon to the Sun. "We rule the hearts of mightiest men - we rule "With a despotic sway all giant minds. "We are not impotent - we pallid stones. "Not all our power is gone - not all our fame - "Not all the magic of our high renown - "Not all the wonder that encircles us - "Not all the mysteries that in us lie - "Not all the memories that hang upon "And cling around about us as a garment, "Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

1833.

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THE HAUNTED PALACE.

IN the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace -- Radiant palace -- reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion -- It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair.

Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow, (This -- all this -- was in the olden Time long ago,) And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odour went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tuned law, Round about a throne where, sitting (Porphyrogene) In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen.

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.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate. (Ah, let us mourn! -- for never sorrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, lie a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh -- but smile no more.

1838.

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THE CONQUEROR WORM.

LO ! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly - Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo !

That motley drama - oh, be sure It shall not be forgot ! With its Phantom chased for evermore, By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot, And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude ! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes ! - it writhes ! - with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the angels sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued.

Out - out are the lights - out all ! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels,all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

1838.

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SILENCE

THERE are some qualities -- some incorporate things, That have a double life, which thus is made A type of that twin entity which springs From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade. There is a two-fold Silence -- sea and shore -- Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places, Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces, Some human memories and tearful lore, Render him terrorless: his name's "No More." He is the corporate Silence: dread him not! No power hath he of evil in himself; But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!) Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf, That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!

1840.

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DREAM-LAND

BY a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule - From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of SPACE - out of TIME.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods, And chasms, and caves, and Titian woods, With forms that no