The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, 5. kötetP.F. Collier & son, 1903 |
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Al Aaraaf angels ANNABEL LEE appeared Baldazzar beauty bells Broadway Journal Castiglione Château Margaux Dammit dead didst Doctor Ponnonner door doth dream Duke dwarf Earl Earl of Leicester earth Edgar Poe embalmed eyes face fancy feel flowers gentleman Gliddon Goodfellow hath head heart Heaven Hop-Frog hour Israfel Jacinta jist king Lalage leddyship length light lilies look maiden melody metaphysician moon Mummy N. P. Willis never Nevermore night o'er odor Old Charley once passion Pennifeather Pharisee Pierre Bon-Bon poem poet poetical poetry Politian Quoth the Raven rason Rattleborough replied SCENES FROM POLITIAN shadow Shuttleworthy sigh silent Sir Pathrick O'Grandison smile soul sound speak spirit squaze star sweet thee thine thing thou art thought throne tion truth Ulalume unto voice wild wind wine wing words
Népszerű szakaszok
212. oldal - Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, — "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore: Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!
215. oldal - Nevermore." "Prophet!" said I, "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 !
189. oldal - Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery, Swift to be hurl'd — Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world!
209. oldal - Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "T is some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door Only this and nothing more.
209. oldal - Ah ! distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore.
189. oldal - 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 and undutiful: Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful.
211. oldal - Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door, Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door: Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
229. oldal - IT WAS many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
210. oldal - 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.
222. oldal - The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere — The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year...