Poems, complete, with an orig. mem. by R.H. Stoddard

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313. oldal - Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer.
111. oldal - 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,
138. oldal - In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor, Now — now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air!
143. oldal - And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea...
159. oldal - Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie.
129. oldal - Here once, through an alley Titanic Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul—- Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriae rivers that roll, As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole, That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole.
242. oldal - SCIENCE! true daughter of Old Time thou art! Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies, Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? And driven the Hamadryad from the wood 10 To seek a shelter in some happier star?
132. oldal - Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb By the door of a legended tomb; And I said - 'What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?
30. oldal - 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 hath flung its black And winged panels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals...
135. oldal - Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...

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