The Works of Edgar Allan Poe ...

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Funk & Wagnalls Company, 1904
 

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Seite 34 - I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Seite 72 - Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as
Seite 26 - I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright...
Seite 69 - And the silken sad uncertain Rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic Terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating Of my heart, I stood repeating : " 'Tis some visitor entreating Entrance at my chamber door — Some late visitor entreating Entrance at my chamber door; This it is and nothing more.
Seite 44 - One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; — Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. — • Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now, is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash...
Seite 20 - Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Seite 44 - Death has left on her Only the beautiful. 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!
Seite 90 - For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee...
Seite 185 - Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome.
Seite 123 - 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.

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