Poe's Works

Why The Little Frenchman Wears His Arm in a Sling It’s on my wisiting cards sure enough (and it's them that's all o’ pink satin paper) that inny gintleman that plases may behould the intheristhing words, “Sir Pathrick O’Grandison, Barronitt, 39 Southampton Row, Russell Square, Parrish o’ Bloomsbury.” And shud ye be wantin to diskiver who is the pink of purliteness quite, and the laider of the hot tun in the houl city o’London — why it's jist meself. And faith that same is no wonder at all at all, so be plased to stop curlin your nose, for every inch o’ the six wakes that I’ve been a ...

A Succession of Sundays “You hard-hearted, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty, fusty old savage!” said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my grand uncle Rumgudgeon — shaking my fist at him in imagination. Only in imagination. The fact is that some trivial discrepancy did exist between what I said just then and what I had not the courage to say — between what I did and what I had half a mind to do. The old porpoise, as I opened the dining-room door, was sitting with his feet up on the mantel-piece, and a bumper of Port in his paw, making strenuous efforts to ...

Silence. — A Fable. ‘Ενδονσιν δ’ορεων κορνφαι τε και φαραγγες Πρωνες τε και χαραδραι -ALCMAN The mountain pinnacles slumber; valleys, crags and caves are silent. “Listen to me,” said the Demon, as he placed his hand upon my head. “The region of which I speak is a dreary region in Libya, by the borders of the river Zäire. And there is no quiet there, nor silence. “The waters of the river have a saffron and sickly hue; and they flow not onwards to the sea, but palpitate forever and forever beneath the red eye of the sun with a tumultuous and convulsive motion. ...

Shadow. A Fable Ye who read are still among the living, but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange things shall happen, and secret things be known, and many centuries shall pass away ere these memorials be seen of men. And when seen there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven with a stylus of iron. The year had been a year of terror, and of feelings more intense than terror for which there is no name upon the earth. For many prodigies and signs had ...