Poems by Edgar A. Poe — 1831 text — reading text

starlight With the breath from their pale faces! Lo! one is coming down With its centre on the crown Of a mountain's eminence! Down — still down — and down — Now deep shall be — O deep! The passion of our sleep! For that wide circumference In easy drapery falls Drowsily over halls — Over ruin'd walls — Over waterfalls, (Silent waterfalls!) O’re the strange woods — o'er the sea — Alas! over the sea! Irene IRENE. ———— 'T is now (so sings the soaring moon) Midnight in the sweet month of June, When winged visions love to lie Lazily upon beauty's eye, Or worse — upon her brow to dance In panoply of old romance, Till thoughts and locks are left, alas! A ne’er-to-be untangled mass. An influence dewy, drowsy, dim, Is dripping from that golden rim; Grey towers are mouldering into rest, Wrapping the fog around their breast: Looking like Lethe, see! the lake A conscious slumber seems to take, And would not for the world awake: The rosemary sleeps upon the grave — The lily lolls upon the wave — And million bright pines to and fro, Are rocking lullabies as they go, To the lone oak that reels with bliss, Nodding above the dim abyss. All beauty sleeps: and lo! where lies With casement open to the skies, Irene, with her destinies! Thus hums the moon within her ear, “O lady sweet! how camest thou here? “Strange are thine eyelids — strange thy dress! “And strange thy glorious length of tress! “Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, “A wonder to our desert trees! “Some gentle wind hath thought it right “To open thy window to the night, “And wanton airs from the tree-top, “Laughingly thro' the lattice drop, “And wave this crimson canopy, “Like a banner o'er thy dreaming eye! “Lady, awake! lady awake! “For the holy Jesus’ sake! “For strangely — fearfully in this hall “My tinted shadows rise and fall!” The lady sleeps: the dead all sleep — At least as long as Love doth weep: Entranc'd, the spirit loves to lie As long as — tears on Memory's eye: But when a week or two go by, And the light laughter chokes the sigh, Indignant from the tomb doth take Its way to some remember'd lake, Where oft — in life — with friends — it went To bathe in the pure element, And there, from the untrodden grass, Wreathing for its transparent brow Those flowers that say (ah hear them now!) To the night-winds as they pass, “Ai! ai! alas! — alas!” Pores for a moment, ere it go, On the clear waters there that flow, Then sinks within (weigh'd down by wo) Th' uncertain, shadowy heaven below. * * * * * * The lady sleeps: oh! may her sleep As it is lasting so be deep — No icy worms about her creep: I pray to God that she may lie Forever with as calm an eye, That chamber chang'd for one more holy — That bed for one more melancholy. Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold, Against whose sounding door she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone — Some tomb, which oft hath flung its black And vampyre-winged pannels back, Flutt’ring triumphant o'er the palls Of her old family funerals. A Pæan A PÆAN. ———— I. How shall the burial rite be read? The solemn song be sung? The requiem for the loveliest dead, That ever died so young? II. Her friends are gazing on her, And on her gaudy bier, And weep! — oh! to dishonor Dead beauty with a tear! III. They loved her for her wealth — And they hated her for her pride — But she grew in feeble health, And they love her — that she died. IV. They tell me (while they speak Of her “costly broider'd pall”) That my voice is growing weak — That I should not sing at all — V. Or that my tone should be Tun'd to such solemn song So mournfully — so mournfully, That the dead may feel no wrong. VI. But she is gone above, With young Hope at her side, And I am drunk with love Of the dead, who is my bride. — VII. Of the dead — dead who lies All perfum'd there, With the death upon her eyes, And the life upon her hair. VIII. Thus on the coffin loud and long I strike — the murmur sent Through the grey chambers to my song, Shall be the accompaniment. IX. Thou died'st in thy life's June — But thou did'st not die too fair: Thou did'st not die too soon, Nor with too calm an air. X. From more than fiends on earth, Thy life and love are riven, To join the untainted mirth Of more than thrones in heaven — XII. Therefore, to thee this night I will no requiem raise, But waft thee on thy flight, With a Pæan of old days. The Valley Nis THE VALLEY NIS. ———— Far away — far away — Far away — as far at least Lies that valley as the day Down within the golden east — All things lovely — are not they Far away — far away? It is called the valley Nis. And a Syriac tale there is Thereabout which Time hath said Shall not be interpreted. Something about Satan's dart — Something about angel wings — Much about a broken heart — All about unhappy things: But “the valley Nis” at best Means “the valley of unrest.” Once it smil'd a silent dell Where the people did not dwell, Having gone unto the wars — And the sly, mysterious stars, With a visage full of meaning, O'er the unguarded flowers were leaning: Or the sun ray dripp'd all red Thro' the tulips overhead, Then grew paler as it fell On the quiet Asphodel. Now the unhappy shall confess Nothing there is motionless: Helen, like thy human eye There th' uneasy violets lie — There the reedy grass doth wave Over the old forgotten grave — One by one from the tree top There the eternal dews do drop — There the vague and dreamy trees Do roll like seas in northern breeze Around the stormy Hebrides — There the gorgeous clouds do fly, Rustling everlastingly, Through the terror-stricken sky, Rolling like a waterfall O'er th' horizon's fiery wall — There the moon doth shine by night With a most unsteady light — There the sun doth reel by day “Over the hills and far away.” [Prefatory Material] AL AARAAF. What has night to do with sleep? COMUS A star was discovered by Tycho Brahe which burst forth, in a moment, with a splendor surpassing that of Jupiter — then gradually faded away and became invisible to the naked eye.” [Sonnet — To Science] SCIENCE! meet daughter of old Time thou art Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes! Why prey'st thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture! whose wings are dull realities! How should he love thee — or how deem thee wise Who would'st not leave him in his wandering, To seek for treasure in the jewell'd skies Albeit he soar with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragg'd Diana from her car, And driv’n the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star? The gentle Naiad from her fountain flood? The elfin from the green grass? and from me The summer dream beneath the shrubbery? Al Aaraaf — Parts I and II AL ARAAF . ——— PART FIRST. Mysterious star! Thou wert my dream All a long summer night — Be now my theme! By this clear stream, Of thee will I write; Meantime from afar Bathe me in light! Thy world has not the dross of ours, Yet all the beauty — all the flowers That list our love, or deck our bowers In dreamy gardens, where do lie Dreamy maidens all the day, While the silver winds of Circassy On violet couches faint away. Little — oh! little dwells in thee Like unto what on earth we see: Beauty's eye is here the bluest In the falsest and untruest — On the sweetest air doth float The most sad and solemn note — If with thee be broken hearts, Joy so peacefully departs, That its echo still doth dwell, Like the murmur in the shell. Thou! thy truest type of grief Is the gentle falling leaf — Thou! thy framing is so holy Sorrow is not melancholy. 'Twas a sweet time for Nesace — for there Her world lay lolling on the golden air, Near four bright suns — a temporary rest — A garden spot in desert of the blest. Away — away — 'mid seas of rays that roll Empyrean splendor o'er th' unchained soul — The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense) Can struggle to its destin'd eminence — To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode, And late to ours, the favor'd one of God — But, now, the ruler of an anchor'd realm, She throws aside the sceptre — leaves the helm, And, amid incense, and high spiritual hymns, Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs. Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely earth, Whence sprang the “idea of Beauty” into birth, (Falling in wreaths through many a startled star, Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar, It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt) She look'd into infinity — and knelt. Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled — Fit emblems of the model of her world — Seen but in beauty — not impeding sight Of other beauty glittering through the light — A wreath that twined each starry form around, And all the opal'd air in colour bound. All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed Of flowers: of lilies such as rear the head On the fair Capo Deucato,* and sprang So eagerly around about to hang Upon the flying footsteps of — deep pride — Of her who lov'd a mortal† and so died — The Sephalica, budding with young bees, Uprear'd its purple stem around her knees — And gemmy flower,‡ of Trebizond misnamed — Inmate of highest stars, where erst it sham'd All other loveliness: its honied dew (The fabled nectar that the heathen knew) Deliriously sweet, was dropp'd from Heaven, And fell on gardens of the unforgiven In Trebizond, and on a sunny flower So like its own above that, to this hour, It still remaineth, torturing the bee With madness, and unwonted reverie — In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief Disconsolate linger — grief that hangs her he Repenting follies that full long have fled, Heaving her white breast to the balmy air Like guilty beauty, chasten'd and more fair — Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light She fears to perfume, perfuming the night — And Clytia* pondering between many a sun, While pettish tears adown her petals run — And that aspiring flower† that sprang on earth — And died, ere scarce exalted into birth, Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king — And Valisnerian lotus ‡ thither flown From struggling with the waters of the Rhone — And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante!§ Isola d'oro! — Fior di Levante! — And the Nelumbo bud|| that floats for ever With Indian Cupid down the holy river — Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given To bear the goddess' song,* in odours, up to heaven — “Spirit! that dwellest where In the deep sky, The terrible and fair, In beauty vie! Beyond the line of blue — The boundary of the star Which turneth at the view Of thy barrier and thy bar — Of the barrier overgone By the comets who were cast From their pride, and from their throne To be drudges till the last — To be carriers of fire (The fire of their heart) With speed that may not tire And with pain that shall not part — Who livest — that we know — In Eternity — we feel — But the shadow of whose brow What spirit shall reveal? Though the beings whom thy Nesace, Thy messenger hath known Have dreamed for thy infinity A model* of their own — Thy will is done, O! God! The star hath ridden high Through many a tempest, but she rode Beneath thy burning eye: And here, in thought, to thee — In thought that can alone Ascend thy empire, and so be A partner of thy throne — By wing'd Fantasy,* My embassy is given Till secresy shall knowledge be In the environs of heaven.” She ceas'd — and buried then her burning cheek Abash'd, amid the lilies there, to seek A shelter from the fervor of his eye, For the stars trembled at the Deity. She stirr'd not — breath'd not — for a voice was there How solemnly pervading the calm air! A sound of silence on the startled ear Which dreamy poets name “the music of the sphere.” Ours is a world of words: Quiet we call “Silence” — which is the merest word of all — Here Nature speaks, and ev'n ideal things Flap shadowy sounds from visionary wings — But ah! not so when, thus, in realms on high The eternal voice of God is passing by,; And the red winds are withering in the sky! “What though in worlds which