Serenade
So sweet the hour — so calm the time,I feel it more than half a crimeWhen Nature sleeps and stars are mute,To mar the silence ev’n with lute.At rest on ocean's brilliant diesAn image of Elysium lies:Seven Pleiades entranced in Heaven,Form in the deep another seven:Endymion nodding from aboveSees in the sea a second love:Within the valleys dim and brown,And on the spectral mountain's crownThe wearied light is lying down:The earth, and stars, and sea, and skyAre redolent of sleep, as IAm redolent of thee and thineEnthralling love, my Adeline.But list, O list! — so soft and lowThy ...
The Poe Museum Blog
Politian
Politian, A Tragedy.
Scene: Rome in the 16th century.
Characters:
Lalage - an orphan ward of Di Broglio.Alessandra - niece of Di Broglio, and betrothed to Castiglione.Jacinta - servant maid to Lalage.Duke Di Broglio.Castiglione - his son and heir.San Ozzo - companion of Castiglione.Politian.Baldazzar - his friend.A monk.Ugo, Benito, and Rupert - Servants in the family of Di Broglio.
I.
An apartment in the Palazzo of Di Broglio. Traces of a protracted revel. On a wine-table some candles burnt to the socket. Masks, a lute, a lady's ...
Preface
Preface
1Romance who loves to nod and singWith drowsy head and folded wingAmong the green leaves as they shakeFar down within some shadowy lakeTo me a painted paroquetHath been — a most familiar bird —Taught me my alphabet to say —To lisp my very earliest wordWhile in the wild wood I did lieA child — with a most knowing eye.
2Of late, eternal Condor yearsSo shake the very air on highWith tumult, as they thunder by,I hardly have had time for caresThro’ gazing on th’ unquiet sky!And, when an hour with calmer wingsIts down upon my spirit flings —That little time with lyre and rhymeTo ...
A Pæan
A Pæan
I.How shall the burial rite be read?The solemn song be sung?The requiem for the loveliest dead,That ever died so young?
II.Her friends are gazing on her,And on her gaudy bier,And weep! — oh! to dishonorDead beauty with a tear!
III.They loved her for her wealth —And they hated her for her pride —But she grew in feeble health,And they love her — that she died.
IV.They tell me (while they speakOf her “costly broider’d pall”)That my voice is growing weak —That I should not sing at all —
V.Or that my tone should beTun’d to such solemn songSo mournfully — so mournfully,That ...