The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, 第 2 卷


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第v页 - The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. With no great range of
第xx页 - thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels
第xix页 - Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !" Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore ; - » For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was
第v页 - 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
第v页 - showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured
第15页 - are neither man nor woman— They are neither brute nor human— They are Ghouls : And their king it is who tolls ; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells ! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells I And he dances, and he yells ; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort
第xi页 - Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home ? Who was her father ! Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ! Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other t
第xx页 - 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 !" Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore.
第229页 - Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine, And the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in their bloom! Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit And the voice of the nightingale never is mute— Where the virgins are soft as the
第16页 - bells ; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells— To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bellsBells, bells, bells— To the moaning and the groaning of the