The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, Volume 3Redfield, 1857 |
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Page 60
... thee but to love thee , Nor named thee but to praise . It is , although beautiful , bears too close a resemblance to the still more beautiful lines of Wordsworth— She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove , A maid ...
... thee but to love thee , Nor named thee but to praise . It is , although beautiful , bears too close a resemblance to the still more beautiful lines of Wordsworth— She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove , A maid ...
Page 67
... thee . No type to match thy beauty My wandering fancy brings— Not fairer than its chrysalis Thy soul with its golden wings ! Here the " Pretty , fairy Molly Gray ! " will put every reader in mind of Tennyson's " Airy , fairy Lillian ...
... thee . No type to match thy beauty My wandering fancy brings— Not fairer than its chrysalis Thy soul with its golden wings ! Here the " Pretty , fairy Molly Gray ! " will put every reader in mind of Tennyson's " Airy , fairy Lillian ...
Page 77
... thee well , be not afraid . " He takes her hand and leads her on— She should have waited there alone , For he was not her chosen one . He leans her head upon his breast— She knew ' twas not her home of rest , But , ah , she had been ...
... thee well , be not afraid . " He takes her hand and leads her on— She should have waited there alone , For he was not her chosen one . He leans her head upon his breast— She knew ' twas not her home of rest , But , ah , she had been ...
Page 89
... thee , For its own children it hath pliant speech ; And mortals know to call a blossom fair , A wavelet graceful , and a jewel rich ; But thou ! —oh , teach me , sweet , the angel tongue They talked in Heaven ere thou didst leave its ...
... thee , For its own children it hath pliant speech ; And mortals know to call a blossom fair , A wavelet graceful , and a jewel rich ; But thou ! —oh , teach me , sweet , the angel tongue They talked in Heaven ere thou didst leave its ...
Page 90
... thee . Know'st thou not I am betrothed ? Strang . — Alas ! too well I know ; But I could tell thee such a tale of him— Thine early love — ' twould fire those timid eyes With lightning pride and anger — curl that lip— That gentle lip to ...
... thee . Know'st thou not I am betrothed ? Strang . — Alas ! too well I know ; But I could tell thee such a tale of him— Thine early love — ' twould fire those timid eyes With lightning pride and anger — curl that lip— That gentle lip to ...
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acatalectic admiration American appears artist Barnaby Rudge beauty better bird Broadway Journal called character compositions convey course critic doubt drama dreams effect entitled especially evinced example expression eyes fact fancy feel friends genius give grace Graham's Magazine heart Heaven idea imagination imitation intellect John Waters journal least light lines literary Longfellow look Magazine man-bats manner matter means merely merit mind nature never novel o'er opinion original Outis Outis's passages passion peculiar perhaps person plagiarism poem poet poetical poetry popular prose published quack quatrain quote racter reader regard remarkable respect rhyme rhythm RICHARD ADAMS Sam Patch satire SEBA SMITH seems sense soul speak spirit spondee stanza story style taste thee thing thou thought tion tone trochee true truth Twice-Told Tales verse vigor volume whole William Ellery Channing words writing written York
Popular passages
Page 294 - Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked, upstarting 'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Page 559 - The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. 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.
Page 310 - So live, that when thy summons comes, to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Page 311 - Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Page 274 - WE watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied — We thought her dying when she slept And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another morn than ours.
Page 54 - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
Page 168 - 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.
Page 168 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, The desert and illimitable air, Lone wandering, but not lost.
Page 233 - He acts upon the principle that if a thing is worth doing at all it is worth doing well: — and the thing that he "does" especially well is the public.
Page 304 - FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing : Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year, you must not die ; You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year, you shall not die.