To Margaret
Who hath seduced thee to this foul revolt } Milton Par. Lost. Bk. IFrom the pure well of Beauty undefiled? } SomebodySo banished from true wisdom to prefer } Cowper's Task, Book I Such squalid wit to honourable rhyme?To write? To scribble? Nonsense and no more? } Shakespeare I will not write upon this argument } do.Troilus & CressidaTo write is human — not to write divine. } Pope Essay on Man
Edgar Allan Poe
This poem was never ...
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To M. L. S.
To M. L. S.
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning —Of all to whom thy absence is the night —The blotting utterly from out high heavenThe sacred sun — of all who, weeping, bless theeHourly for hope — for life — ah! above all,For the resurrection of deep-buried faithIn Truth — in Virtue — in Humanity —Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bedLaying them down to die, have suddenly risenAt thy soft-murmured words, “Let there be light!”At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilledIn the seraphic glancing of thine eyes —Of all who owe thee most — whose gratitudeNearest approaches worship — ...
To Her Whose Name is Written Below
To Her Whose Name is Written Below
For her these lines are penned, whose luminous eyes,Bright and expressive as the stars of Leda,Shall find her own sweet name that, nestling, liesUpon this page, enwrapped from every reader.Search narrowly these words, which hold a treasureDivine — a talisman — an amuletThat must be worn at heart. Search well the measure —The words — the letters themselves. Do not forgetThe smallest point, or you may lose your labor.And yet there is in this no Gordian knot,Which one might not undo without a sabre.If one could merely comprehend the plotUpon the open ...
To Helen
To Helen
I saw thee once — once only — years ago:I must not say how many — but not many.It was a July midnight; and from outA full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,Sought a precipitant pathway up through heaven,There fell a silvery-silken veil of light,With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber,Upon the upturn’d faces of a thousandRoses that grew in an enchanted garden,Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tip-toe —Fell on the upturn’d faces of these rosesThat gave out, in return for the love-light,Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death —Fell ...