Edgar Allan Poe - The Complete Poetry

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Musaicum Books presents to you this meticulously edited Poe poetry collection:
Content:
The Raven
Poems of Later Life
The Bells
Ulalume
To Helen
Annabel Lee
A Valentine
An Enigma
To My Mother
For Annie
To F—
To Frances S. Osgood
Eldorado
Eulalie
A Dream Within a Dream
To Marie Louise (Shew)
To Marie Louise
The City in the Sea
The Sleeper
Bridal Ballad
Poems of Manhood
Lenore
To One in Paradise
The Coliseum
The Haunted Palace
The Conqueror Worm
Silence
Dreamland
To Zante
Hymn
Scenes from Politian
Poems of Youth
To Science
Al Aaraaf
Tamerlane
To Helen
The Valley of Unrest
Israfel
To the River
Song
Spirits of the Dead
A Dream
Romance
Fairyland
The Lake
Evening Star
Imitation
The Happiest Day
Hymn
Dreams
In Youth I have known one
A Pæan
Doubtful Poems
Alone
To Isadore
The Village Street
The Forest Reverie
Other Poems
An Acrostic
Beloved Physician
The Doomed City
Deep in Earth
The Divine Right of Kings
Elizabeth
Enigma
Epigram for Wall Street
Evangeline
Fanny
Impromptu – To Kate Carol
Lines on Ale
O, Tempora! O, Mores!
Poetry
Serenade
Spiritual Song
Stanzas
Stanzas – to F. S. Osgood
Tamerlane (early version)
To —
To Isaac Lea
To Margaret
To Miss Louise Olivia Hunter
To Octavia
The Valley Nis
Visit of the Dead
Prose Poems
The Island of the Fay
The Power of Words
The Colloquy of Monos and Una
The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion
Shadow—a Parable
Silence—a Fable
Essays
The Philosophy of Composition
The Rationale of Verse
The Poetic Principle
Old English Poetry
Biography
The Dreamer by Mary Newton Stanard

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Poems of Manhood

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Lenore

To One in Paradise

The Coliseum

The Haunted Palace

The Conqueror Worm

Silence

Dreamland

To Zante

Hymn

Notes

Lenore

Table of Contents

Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!

Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river.

And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?—weep now or never more! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!— An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young— A dirge for her, the doubly dead in that she died so young. "Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride, And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her—that she died! How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be sung By you—by yours, the evil eye,—by yours, the slanderous tongue That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?" Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong! The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside, Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride— For her, the fair and débonnaire , that now so lowly lies, The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes— The life still there, upon her hair—the death upon her eyes. "Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise, But waft the angel on her flight with a pæan of old days! Let no bell toll!—lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth, Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned Earth. To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven— From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven— From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven."

To One in Paradise

Table of Contents

Thou wast that all to me, love,

For which my soul did pine—

A green isle in the sea, love,

A fountain and a shrine,

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,

And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!

Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise

But to be overcast!

A voice from out the Future cries,

"On! on!"—but o'er the Past

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies

Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! with me

The light of Life is o'er!

"No more—no more—no more"—

(Such language holds the solemn sea

To the sands upon the shore)

Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,

Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,

And all my nightly dreams

Are where thy dark eye glances,

And where thy footstep gleams—

In what ethereal dances,

By what eternal streams!

Alas! for that accursed time

They bore thee o'er the billow,

From love to titled age and crime,

And an unholy pillow!

From me, and from our misty clime,

Where weeps the silver willow!

The Coliseum

Table of Contents

Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary

Of lofty contemplation left to Time

By buried centuries of pomp and power!

At length—at length—after so many days

Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,

(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)

I kneel, an altered and an humble man,

Amid thy shadows, and so drink within

My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!

Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!

I feel ye now—I feel ye in your strength—

O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king

Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane!

O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee

Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!

Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,

A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!

Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair

Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!

Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,

Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,

Lit by the wan light of the horned moon,

The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

But stay! these walls—these ivy-clad arcades—

These mouldering plinths—these sad and blackened shafts—

These vague entablatures—this crumbling frieze—

These shattered cornices—this wreck—this ruin—

These stones—alas! these gray stones—are they all—

All of the famed, and the colossal left

By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

"Not all"—the Echoes answer me—"not all!

Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever

From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,

As melody from Memnon to the Sun.

We rule the hearts of mightiest men—we rule

With a despotic sway all giant minds.

We are not impotent—we pallid stones.

Not all our power is gone—not all our fame—

Not all the magic of our high renown—

Not all the wonder that encircles us—

Not all the mysteries that in us lie—

Not all the memories that hang upon

And cling around about us as a garment,

Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

The Haunted Palace

Table of Contents

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!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

On its roof did float and flow,

(This—all this—was in the olden

Time long ago),

And every gentle air that dallied,

In that sweet day,

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw

Spirits moving musically,

To a lute's well-tunëd law,

Bound about a throne where, sitting

(Porphyrogene!)

In state his glory well befitting,

The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing

Was the fair palace door,

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,

And sparkling evermore,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty

Was but to sing,

In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch's high estate.

(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him desolate !)

And round about his home the glory

That blushed and bloomed,

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

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.

The Conqueror Worm

Table of Contents

Lo! 'tis a gala night

Within the lonesome latter years!

An angel throng, bewinged, bedight

In veils, and drowned in tears,

Sit in a theatre, to see

A play of hopes and fears,

While the orchestra breathes fitfully

The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,

Mutter and mumble low,

And hither and thither fly—

Mere puppets they, who come and go

At bidding of vast formless things

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