The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe: With MemoirHomewood Publishing Company, 1902 - 256 pages |
Autres éditions - Tout afficher
The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe: With Memoir by J.H. Ingram Edgar Allan Poe,John Henry Ingram Affichage du livre entier - 1887 |
The Complete Poetical Works Of Edgar Allan Poe: With Memoir Edgar Allan Poe,John Henry Ingram Aucun aperçu disponible - 2018 |
The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe: With Memoir Edgar Allan Poe,John Henry Ingram Aucun aperçu disponible - 2015 |
Expressions et termes fréquents
admiration Al Aaraaf Aless alluded amid angels Annabel Lee appeared Baldazzar beauty bells bird breath Broadway Journal Castiglione character Clemm Conchology dear death didst dream Edgar Allan Poe Edgar Poe Elizabeth Barrett Browning eyes fair fancy feel flowers Fordham genius Graham's Graham's Magazine Griswold happy hath Haunted Palace heart Heaven honor hope Israfel Jacinta Journal knew lady Lalage Lenore letter light literary lonely magazine maiden melody MEMOIR memory ment Mesmeric Revelations Messenger moon N. P. Willis never Nevermore night o'er passion Poe's Poems poet poet's Poetic Principle poetical poetry Politian published Raven remarks shadow smile song sorrow soul speak spirit stars story sweet tale thee thine things thou art thro tion true truth Ulalume unto voice whilst Whitman wife Willis wind wings wonderful words write written young
Fréquemment cités
Page 160 - Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "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 !
Page 159 - But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore.
Page 147 - 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...
Page 156 - 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,
Page 155 - 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.
Page 181 - And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever, And laugh - but smile no more.
Page 175 - Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows...
Page 137 - Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
Page 177 - 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 140 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.