EDGAR ALLAN POE (POEMS)

EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809 - 1849) was an American writer best known for his poems and short fiction.

He deserves more credit than any other writer for the transformation of the short story from anecdote to art.

He virtually created the detective story and perfected the psychological thriller.

He also produced some of the most influential literary criticism of his time - important theoretical statements on poetry and the short story - and has had a worldwide influence on literature.         

 

For more on Edgar Allan Poe, clich HERE.

edgarallanpoe

ANNABEL LEE

 

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.

 

She was a child and I 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.

 

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud by night

Chilling my ANNABEL LEE;

So that her high-born kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

 

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me

Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling

And killing my ANNABEL LEE.

 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we

Of many far wiser than we

And neither the angels in Heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

 

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea

In her tomb by the side of the sea.

   

Published in 1849.

A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM

 

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

 

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my 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 that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

 

 

Published in 1827.

THE VALLEY OF UNREST

 

Once it smiled a silent dell

Where the people did not dwell;

They had gone unto the wars,

Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,

Nightly, from their azure towers,

To keep watch above the flowers,

In the midst of which all day

The red sun-light lazily lay.

Now each visitor shall confess

The sad valley's restlessness.

Nothing there is motionless --

Nothing save the airs that brood

Over the magic solitude.

Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees

That palpitate like the chill seas

Around the misty Hebrides!

Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven

That rustle through the unquiet Heaven

Uneasily, from morn till even,

Over the violets there that lie

In myriad types of the human eye --

Over the lilies there that wave

And weep above a nameless grave!

They wave: -- from out their fragrant tops

Eternal dews come down in drops.

They weep: -- from off their delicate stems

Perennial tears descend in gems.

 

Published in 1845.

Aller à la barre d’outils