The Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe, with Original Memoir. Illustrated by F. R. Pickersgill, J. Tenniel, Birket Foster, Etc1866 |
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Page xvii
... hand , furnished him with means to render him immediately comfortable , and enabled him to make a respectable appearance ; and in a short time afterwards procured for him a situation as editor of the " Literary Messenger , " a monthly ...
... hand , furnished him with means to render him immediately comfortable , and enabled him to make a respectable appearance ; and in a short time afterwards procured for him a situation as editor of the " Literary Messenger , " a monthly ...
Page 15
... hand . With thy dear name as text , though bidden by thee , I cannot write - I cannot speak or think- Alas , I cannot feel ; for ' t is not feeling , This standing motionless upon the golden Threshold of the wide - open gate of dreams ...
... hand . With thy dear name as text , though bidden by thee , I cannot write - I cannot speak or think- Alas , I cannot feel ; for ' t is not feeling , This standing motionless upon the golden Threshold of the wide - open gate of dreams ...
Page 48
... hand , And the wreath is on my brow ; Satins and jewels grand Are all at my command , And I am happy now . And my lord he loves me well ; But , when first he breathed his vow , I felt my bosom swell— For the words rang as a knell , And ...
... hand , And the wreath is on my brow ; Satins and jewels grand Are all at my command , And I am happy now . And my lord he loves me well ; But , when first he breathed his vow , I felt my bosom swell— For the words rang as a knell , And ...
Page 73
... hand Grains of the golden sand-- How few ! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep , While I weep - while I weep ! O God ! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp ? O God ! can I not save One from the pitiless wave ? Is all ...
... hand Grains of the golden sand-- How few ! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep , While I weep - while I weep ! O God ! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp ? O God ! can I not save One from the pitiless wave ? Is all ...
Page 84
... hand on his shoulder . ] What , art thou dreaming ? he's not well ! What ails thee , Sir ? CASTIGLIONE [ starting ] . Cousin fair cousin ! -madam ! I crave thy pardon - indeed I am not well- Your hand from off my shoulder , if you ...
... hand on his shoulder . ] What , art thou dreaming ? he's not well ! What ails thee , Sir ? CASTIGLIONE [ starting ] . Cousin fair cousin ! -madam ! I crave thy pardon - indeed I am not well- Your hand from off my shoulder , if you ...
Common terms and phrases
A. M. MADOT Aaraaf Al Aaraaf ALESSANDRA amid ANNABEL LEE Auber BALDAZZAR beautiful ANNABEL LEE bells bird BIRKET FOSTER bride bright Broadway Journal bust CASTIGLIONE chamber door Cooper dear Dian death didst died dim lake dost doth dream dwell Edgar Allan Poe Evans F. R. PICKERSGILL fair feel fell flowers gentle ghoul-haunted woodland glory golden happy hath hear heart heaven Hope Israfel JACINTA JASPER CROPSEY JOHN TENNIEL LALAGE leave light literary lived lone magazine maiden melody moon never Nevermore night o'er PERCIVAL SKELTON poems poet POLITIAN quarrel Quoth the Raven red levin Richmond roll Runic rhyme SCENES FROM POLITIAN seraph sere shadow sigh skies smiled sorrow soul spirit stars strange sweet tarn of Auber thee things thou art thro throne ULALUME unto upturn'd faces voice W. J. Linton wave wild wind wing woodland of Weir young
Popular passages
Page 1 - 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. " Tis some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at my chamber door — Only this, and nothing more.
Page 4 - 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...
Page 7 - And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, . And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore...
Page 4 - Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never — nevermore.
Page 2 - 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.
Page 39 - 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.
Page 39 - 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.
Page 58 - By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule — From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of SPACE — out of TIME.
Page 6 - 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! 100 Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Page 31 - 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!