Edgar Allan Poe 1809-1849 John Bartlett


1
All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
A Dream within a Dream.
2
Sound loves to revel in a summer night.
Al Aaraaf.
3
Years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute.
To ———.
4
From a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down.
The City in the Sea.
5
Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!
The Coliseum.
6
This—all this—was in the olden Time long ago.
The haunted Palace.
7
Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought,
To ———.
8
This maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
Annabel Lee.
9
Keeping time, time, time In a sort of Runic rhyme To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells.
The Bells.
10
Hear the mellow wedding bells Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight!
The Bells.



11
And all my days are trances And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances And where thy footstep gleams— In what ethereal dances By what eternal streams.
To One in Paradise.
12
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping.
The Raven.
13
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
The Raven.
14
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.
The Raven.
15
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dreamed before.
The Raven.
16
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,— Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
The Raven.
17
Whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster.
The Raven.
18
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door! Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
The Raven.
19
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—Nevermore!
The Raven.
20
To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
To Helen.
21
The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere— The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year.
Ulalume.
22
Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my soul,— Of cypress, with Psyche, my soul.
Ulalume.
23
A Quixotic sense of the honorable—of the chivalrous.
Letter to Mrs. Whitman. Oct. 18, 1848.
24
The object, Truth, or the satisfaction of the intellect, and the object, Passion, or the excitement of the heart, are, although attainable, to a certain extent, in poetry, far more readily attainable in prose.
The Philosophy of Composition.
25
I would define, in brief, the Poetry of words as the Rhythmical Creation of Beauty. Its sole arbiter is Taste.
The poetic Principle.
26
Can it be fancied that Deity ever vindictively Made in his image a mannikin merely to madden it? 1
The Rationale of Verse.

Note 1.
FitzGerald: Omar Khayyám.
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke. [back]

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