The Sleeper
At midnight, in the month of June,I stand beneath the mystic moon.An opiate vapour, dewy, dim,Exhales from out her golden rim,And, softly dripping, drop by drop,Upon the quiet mountain-top,Steals drowsily and musicallyInto the universal valley.The rosemary nods upon the grave;The lily lolls upon the wave;Wrapping the mist about its breast,The ruin moulders into rest;Looking like Lethe, see, the lakeA conscious slumber seems to take,And would not for the world awake.All beauty sleeps! — and, lo! where liesWith casement open to the skies,Irene with her destinies! O, lady bright, ...
The Poe Museum Blog
The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar
The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar
Of course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter for wonder, that the extraordinary case of M. Valdemar has excited discussion. It would have been a miracle had it not — especially under the circumstances. Through the desire of all parties concerned to keep the affair from the public, at least for the present, or until we had farther opportunities for investigation — through our endeavors to effect this — a garbled or exaggerated account made its way into society, and became the source of many unpleasant misrepresentations, and, very naturally, of ...
Ligeia
Ligeia
And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor. For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.
JOSEPH GLANVILL.
I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely where, I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia. Long years have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much suffering. Or, perhaps, I cannot now bring these points to mind, because, ...
Alone
Alone
From childhood’s hour I have not beenAs others were — I have not seenAs others saw — I could not bringMy passions from a common spring —From the same source I have not takenMy sorrow — I could not awakenMy heart to joy at the same tone —And all I lov’d — I lov’d alone —Then — in my childhood — in the dawnOf a most stormy life — was drawnFrom ev’ry depth of good and illThe mystery which binds me still —From the torrent, or the fountain —From the red cliff of the mountain —From the sun that ’round me roll’dIn its autumn tint of gold —From the lightning in the skyAs it ...
