For while the leaves were wealthy
With kindling sap and dew—
While the sun shot golden lances
Through all its billowy green,
And the birds poured love and music
Where the slanting rays had been—

"Then its great roots gathered fragrance,
Like wine-drops from the ground,
Till it sparkled through the foliage,
As faith fills the profound
Of souls that live together
In kindred trust and love,
Till their union seems immortal
As the burning stars above.

"But the very dews of summer
Had left their own decay;
And Change, a ruthless vampire,
That steals the soul away,
Came with the mellow autumn,

And touched those leaves with blight; Then the frost came stealing earthward,

Like a ghost upon the night.

"When the frost had done its death-work,
When the golden leaves were sear,
And the brown crept dimly on them
In the old age of the year,—
Ah! the roots withdrew their nurture,
While the tree stood firm and high;
When the leaves had lost their greenness,
Lo, it cast them off to die!"

Then I thought, "Those leaves were weary,

And thrilled with human pain,

As they fell so cold and dreary

Beneath the beating rain.

While the boughs waved slow and grimly,

And shook them all away—
Those leaves that fell so dimly,
Like shadows on the day!"

Then my soul went sadly after,
As they quivered from my sight,
And it followed faster, faster,

As my hopes had taken flight.
So I watched the pale leaves flutter,
Flutter downward from the stem;
And I said, "The cold earth under
Is enough for me and them.”

Edgar Allan Poe.

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak

and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten loreWhile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a

tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber

door.

""Tis some visitor," I muttered, "

door

tapping at my chamber

Only this, and nothing more."

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.

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 stcod

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.

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no

longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber

door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide

the door ;

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no

token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "LENORE!"

66

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "LENORE!"

Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me

burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; v

Let me see, then, what thereat is-and this mystery explore,

Let my

heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

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.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smi

ling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it

wore,

Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said,

66 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 !"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

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 blest with seeing bird above his chamber door

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke

only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did

outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown

before."

Then the bird said, "Nevermore."