Complete poems of Edgar Allan Poe / [by Edgar Allan Poe] ; collected, edited, and arranged with memoir, textual notes and bibliography by J.H. Whitty [electronic text]

POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH

PRIVATE reasons — some of which have reference to the sin of plagiarism, and others to the date of Tennyson's first poems — have induced me, after some hesitation, to re-publish these, the crude compositions of my earliest boyhood. They are printed verbatim —without alteration from the original edition — the date of which is too remote to be judiciously acknowledged.
E. A. P.

Note by Poe, prefixed to "Poems Written in Youth" in the Edition of 1845.

POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH

TAMERLANE

KIND solace in a dying hour!Such, father, is not (now) my theme —I will not madly deem that powerOf Earth may shrive me of the sinUnearthly pride hath revell'd in —I have no time to dote or dream:You call it hope — that fire of fire!It is but agony of desire:If I can hope — Oh God! I can —Its fount is holier — more divine —I would not call thee fool, old man,But such is not a gift of thine.

Know thou the secret of a spiritBow'd from its wild pride into shame.O yearning heart! I did inheritThy withering portion with the fame,The searing glory which hath shoneAmid the Jewels of my throne,Halo of Hell! and with a painNot hell shall make me fear again —

O craving heart, for the lost flowersAnd sunshine of my summer hours!The undying voice of that dead time,With its interminable chime,

Rings, in the spirit of a spell, Upon thy emptiness — a knell.

I have not always been as now: The fever'd diadem on my brow I claim'd and won usurpingly — Hath not the same fierce heirdom given Rome to the Cæsar — this to me? The heritage of a kingly mind, And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind.

On mountain soil I first drew life: The mists of the Taglay have shed Nightly their dews upon my head, And, I believe, the wingèd strife And tumult of the headlong air Have nestled in my very hair.

So late from Heaven — that dew — it fell ('Mid dreams of an unholy night) Upon me with the touch of Hell, While the red flashing of the light From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er, Appeared to my half-closing eye The pageantry of monarchy, And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar Came hurriedly upon me, telling Of human battle, where my voice, My own voice, silly child! — was swelling (O! how my spirit would rejoice, And leap within me at the cry) The battle-cry of Victory!

The rain came down upon my head Unshelter'd — and the heavy wind Rendered me mad and deaf and blind. It was but man, I thought, who shed Laurels upon me: and the rush — The torrent of the chilly air Gurgled within my ear the crush Of empires — with the captive's prayer — The hum of suitors — and the tone Of flattery 'round a sovereign's throne.

My passions, from that hapless hour, Usurp'd a tyranny which men Have deem'd, since I have reach'd to power, My innate nature — be it so: But, father, there liv'd one who, then, Then — in my boyhood — when their fire Burn'd with a still intenser glow (For passion must, with youth, expire) E'en then who knew this iron heart In woman's weakness had a part.

I have no words — alas! — to tell The loveliness of loving well! Nor would I now attempt to trace The more than beauty of a face Whose lineaments, upon my mind, Are — shadows on th' unstable wind: Thus I remember having dwelt Some page of early lore upon, With loitering eye, till I have felt The letters — with their meaning — melt To fantasies — with none.

O, she was worthy of all love! Love — as in infancy was mine — 'T was such as angel minds above Might envy; her young heart the shrine On which my every hope and thought Were incense — then a goodly gift, For they were childish and upright — Pure — as her young example taught: Why did I leave it, and, adrift, Trust to the fire within, for light?

We grew in age — and love — together — Roaming the forest, and the wild; My breast her shield in wintry weather — And, when the friendly sunshine smil'd, And she would mark the opening skies, I saw no Heaven — but in her eyes.

Young Love's first lesson is — the heart: For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles, When, from our little cares apart, And laughing at her girlish wiles, I'd throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears — There was no need to speak the rest — No need to quiet any fears Of her — who ask'd no reason why, But turn'd on me her quiet eye!

Yet more than worthy of the love My spirit struggled with, and strove, When, on the mountain peak, alone, Ambition lent it a new tone —

I had no being—but in thee: The world, and all it did contain In the earth — the air — the sea — Its joy — its little lot of pain That was new pleasure — the ideal, Dim, vanities of dreams by night — And dimmer nothings which were real — (Shadows — and a more shadowy light!) Parted upon their misty wings, And, so, confusedly, became Thine image and — a name — a name! Two separate — yet most intimate things.

I was ambitious — have you known The passion, father? You have not: A cottager, I mark'd a throne Of half the world as all my own, And murmur'd at such lowly lot — But, just like any other dream, Upon the vapor of the dew My own had past, did not the beam Of beauty which did while it thro' The minute — the hour — the day — oppress My mind with double loveliness.

We walk'd together on the crown Of a high mountain which look'd down Afar from its proud natural towers Of rock and forest, on the hills — The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers And shouting with a thousand rills.

I spoke to her of power and pride, But mystically — in such guise

That she might deem it nought beside The moment's converse; in her eyes I read, perhaps too carelessly — A mingled feeling with my own — The flush on her bright cheek, to me Seem'd to become a queenly throne Too well that I should let it be Light in the wilderness alone.

I wrapp'd myself in grandeur then And donn'd a visionary crown — Yet it was not that Fantasy Had thrown her mantle over me — But that, among the rabble — men, Lion ambition is chain'd down — And crouches to a keeper's hand — Not so in deserts where the grand — The wild — the terrible conspire With their own breath to fan his fire. Look 'round thee now on Samarcand! — Is she not queen of Earth? her pride Above all cities? in her hand Their destinies? in all beside Of glory which the world hath known Stands she not nobly and alone? Falling — her veriest stepping-stone Shall form the pedestal of a throne — And who her sovereign? Timour — he Whom the astonished people saw Striding o'er empires haughtily A diadem'd outlaw!

O, human love! thou spirit given, On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven!

Which fall'st into the soul like rain Upon the Siroc-wither'd plain, And, failing in thy power to bless, But leav'st the heart a wilderness! Idea! which bindest life around With music of so strange a sound And beauty of so wild a birth — Farewell! for I have won the Earth.

When Hope, the eagle that tower'd, could see No cliff beyond him in the sky, His pinions were bent droopingly — And homeward turn'd his soften'd eye. 'T was sunset: when the sun will part There comes a sullenness of heart To him who still would look upon The glory of the summer sun. That soul will hate the ev'ning mist So often lovely, and will list To the sound of the coming darkness (known To those whose spirits harken) as one Who, in a dream of night, would fly But cannot from a danger nigh.

What tho' the moon — the white moon Shed all the splendor of her noon, Her smile is chilly — and her beam, In that time of dreariness, will seem (So like you gather in your breath) A portrait taken after death.

And boyhood is a summer sun Whose waning is the dreariest one —

For all we live to know is known And all we seek to keep hath flown — Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall With the noon-day beauty — which is all.

I reach'd my home — my home no more — For all had flown who made it so. I pass'd from out its mossy door, And, tho' my tread was soft and low, A voice came from the threshold stone Of one whom I had earlier known — O, I defy thee, Hell, to show On beds of fire that burn below, An humbler heart — a deeper wo.

Father, I firmly do believe — I know — for Death who comes for me From regions of the blest afar, Where there is nothing to deceive, Hath left his iron gate ajar, And rays of truth you cannot see Are flashing thro' Eternity I do believe that Eblis hath A snare in every human path — Else how, when in the holy grove I wandered of the idol, Love, Who daily scents his snowy wings With incense of burnt offerings From the most unpolluted things, Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven Above with trellis'd rays from Heaven No mote may shun — no tiniest fly —

The light'ning of his eagle eye — How was it that Ambition crept, Unseen, amid the revels there, Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt In the tangles of Love's very hair?

SONNET — TO SCIENCE

SCIENCE! true daughter of Old Time thou art!Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,Who wouldst not leave him in his wanderingTo seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?And driven the Hamadryad from the woodTo seek a shelter in some happier star?Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,The Elfin from the green grass, and from meThe summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

AL AARAAF

1 1.1

PART I

O! NOTHING earthly save the ray(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,As in those gardens where the daySprings from the gems of Circassy —O! nothing earthly save the thrillOf melody in woodland rill —Or (music of the passion-hearted)Joy's voice so peacefully departedThat like the murmur in the shell,Its echo dwelleth and will dwell —Oh, nothing of the dross of ours —Yet all the beauty — all the flowersThat list our Love, and deck our bowers —Adorn yon world afar, afar —The wandering star.

'T was a sweet time for Nesace — for thereHer world lay lolling on the golden air,Near four bright suns — a temporary rest —An oasis in desert of the blest.Away — away — 'mid seas of rays that rollEmpyrean splendor o'er th' unchained soul —The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense)Can struggle to its destin'd eminence —

To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode, And late to ours, the favour'd one of God — But, now, the ruler of an anchor'd realm, She throws aside the sceptre — leaves the helm, And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns, Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.

Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth, Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth, (Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star, Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar, It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt) She look'd into Infinity — and knelt. Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled — Fit emblems of the model of her world — Seen but in beauty — not impeding sight Of other beauty glittering thro' the light — A wreath that twined each starry form around, And all the opal'd air in color bound.

All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed Of flowers: of lilies such as rear'd the head 1 1.2On the fair Capo Deucato, and sprang So eagerly around about to hang Upon the flying footsteps of — deep pride — 2 1.3 Of her who lov'd a mortal — and so died. The Sephalica, budding with young bees, Uprear'd its purple stem around her knees: 3 1.4And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnam'd —

Inmate of highest stars, where erst it sham'd All other loveliness: its honied dew (The fabled nectar that the heathen knew) Deliriously sweet, was dropp'd from Heaven, And fell on gardens of the unforgiven In Trebizond — and on a sunny flower So like its own above that, to this hour, It still remaineth, torturing the bee With madness, and unwonted reverie: In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief Disconsolate linger — grief that hangs her head, Repenting follies that full long have fled, Heaving her white breast to the balmy air, Like guilty beauty, chasten'd, and more fair: Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light She fears to perfume, perfuming the night: 1 1.5And Clytia pondering between many a sun, While pettish tears adown her petals run: 2 1.6And that aspiring flower that sprang on earth — And died, ere scarce exalted into birth, Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king:

1 1.7And Valisnerian lotus thither flown From struggling with the waters of the Rhone: 2 1.8And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante! Isola d'oro! — Fior di Levante! 3 1.9And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever With Indian Cupid down the holy river — Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given 4 1.10To bear the Goddess' song, in odors, up to Heaven:

"Spirit! that dwellest where,In the deep sky,The terrible and fair,In beauty vie!Beyond the line of blue —The boundary of the starWhich turneth at the viewOf thy barrier and thy bar —Of the barrier overgoneBy the comets who were castFrom their pride, and from their throneTo be drudges till the last —To be carriers of fire(The red fire of their heart)With speed that may not tireAnd with pain that shall not part —

Who livest — that we know — In Eternity — we feel — But the shadow of whose brow What spirit shall reveal? Tho' the beings whom thy Nesace, Thy messenger hath known Have dream'd for thy Infinity 1 1.11A model of their own — Thy will is done, Oh, God! The star hath ridden high Thro' many a tempest, but she rode Beneath thy burning eye; And here, in thought, to thee — In thought that can alone

Ascend thy empire and so be A partner of thy throne — 1 1.12 By winged Fantasy, My embassy is given, Till secrecy shall knowledge be In the environs of Heaven."

She ceas'd — and buried then her burning cheek Abash'd, amid the lilies there, to seek A shelter from the fervour of His eye; For the stars trembled at the Deity. She stir'd not — breath'd not — for a voice was there How solemnly pervading the calm air! A sound of silence on the startled ear Which dreamy poets name "the music of the sphere." Ours is a world of words: Quiet we call "Silence" — which is the merest word of all. All Nature speaks, and ev'n ideal things Flap shadowy sounds from visionary wings — But ah! not so when, thus, in realms on high The eternal voice of God is passing by, And the red winds are withering in the sky!

2 1.13"What tho' in worlds which sightless cycles run, Link'd to a little system, and one sun — Where all my love is folly and the crowd Still think my terrors but the thunder cloud, The storm, the earthquake, and the ocean-wrath — (Ah! will they cross me in my angrier path?)

What tho' in worlds which own a single sunThe sands of Time grow dimmer as they run,Yet thine is my resplendency, so givenTo bear my secrets thro' the upper Heaven.Leave tenantless thy crystal home, and fly,With all thy train, athwart the moony sky —1 1.14Apart — like fire-flies in Sicilian night,And wing to other worlds another light!Divulge the secrets of thy embassyTo the proud orbs that twinkle — and so beTo ev'ry heart a barrier and a banLest the stars totter in the guilt of man!"

Up rose the maiden in the yellow night,The single-moonèd eve! — on Earth we plightOur faith to one love — and one moon adore —The birth-place of young Beauty had no more.As sprang that yellow star from downy hoursUp rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers, And bent o'er sheeny mountain and dim plain2 1.15Her way — but left not yet her Therasæan reign.

PART II

HIGH on a mountain of enamell'd head —Such as the drowsy shepherd on his bedOf giant pasturage lying at his ease,Raising his heavy eyelid, starts and sees

With many a mutter'd "hope to be forgiven" What time the moon is quadrated in Heaven — Of rosy head, that towering far away Into the sunlit ether, caught the ray Of sunken suns at eve — at noon of night, While the moon danc'd with the fair stranger light — Uprear'd upon such height arose a pile Of gorgeous columns on th' unburthen'd air, Flashing from Parian marble that twin smile Far down upon the wave that sparkled there, And nursled the young mountain in its lair. 1 1.16 Of molten stars their pavement, such as fall Thro' the ebon air, besilvering the pall Of their own dissolution, while they die — Adorning then the dwellings of the sky. A dome, by linkèd light from Heaven let down, Sat gently on these columns as a crown — A window of one circular diamond, there, Look'd out above into the purple air, And rays from God shot down that meteor chain And hallow'd all the beauty twice again, Save when, between th' Empyrean and that ring, Some eager spirit flapp'd his dusky wing. But on the pillars Seraph eyes have seen The dimness of this world: that greyish green. That Nature loves the best for Beauty's grave Lurk'd in each cornice, round each architrave — And every sculptur'd cherub thereabout That from his marble dwelling peerèd out, Seem'd earthly in the shadow of his niche — Achaian statues in a world so rich.

1 1.17Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis — From Balbec, and the stilly, clear abyss 2 1.18Of beautiful Gomorrah! O, the wave Is now upon thee — but too late to save!

Sound loves to revel in a summer night: Witness the murmur of the grey twilight 3 1.19That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco, Of many a wild star-gazer long ago — That stealeth ever on the ear of him Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim, And sees the darkness coming as a cloud — 4 1.20Is not its form—its voice — most palpable and loud?

But what is this? — it cometh — and it brings A music with it — 't is the rush of wings —

A pause — and then a sweeping, falling strain. And Nesace is in her halls again. From the wild energy of wanton haste Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart; And zone that clung around her gentle waist Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart. Within the centre of that hall to breathe She paus'd and panted, Zanthe! all beneath, The fairy light that kiss'd her golden hair And long'd to rest, yet could but sparkle there!

1 1.21Young flowers were whispering in melody To happy flowers that night — and tree to tree; Fountains were gushing music as they fell In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell; Yet silence came upon material things — Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings — And sound alone that from the spirit sprang Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang:

"Neath blue-bell or streamer —Or tufted wild sprayThat keeps, from the dreamer,2 1.22The moonbeam away —Bright beings! that ponder,With half closing eyes,

On the stars which your wonder Hath drawn from the skies, 'Till they glance thro' the shade, and Come down to your brow Like — eyes of the maiden Who calls on you now — Arise! from your dreaming In violet bowers, To duty beseeming These star-litten hours — And shake from your tresses Encumber'd with dew The breath of those kisses That cumber them too — (O! how, without you, Love! Could angels be blest?) Those kisses of true love That lull'd ye to rest! Up! — shake from your wing Each hindering thing: The dew of the night — It would weigh down your flight; And true love caresses — O! leave them apart! They are light on the tresses, But lead on the heart.

Ligeia! Ligeia! My beautiful one! Whose harshest idea Will to melody run, O! is it thy will On the breezes to toss?

Or, capriciously still, 1 1.23Like the lone Albatross, Incumbent on night (As she on the air) To keep watch with delight On the harmony there? Ligeia! wherever Thy image may be, No magic shall sever Thy music from thee. Thou hast bound many eyes In a dreamy sleep — But the strains still arise Which thy vigilance keep — The sound of the rain Which leaps down to the flower, And dances again In the rhythm of the shower — 2 1.24 The murmur that springs From the growing of grass Are the music of things — But are modell'd, alas! — Away, then my dearest, O! hie thee away To springs that lie clearest Beneath the moon-ray — To lone lake that smiles, In its dream of deep rest,

At the many star-isles That enjewel its breast — Where wild flowers, creeping, Have mingled their shade, On its margin is sleeping Full many a maid — Some have left the cool glade, and 1 1.25Have slept with the bee — Arouse then my maiden, On moorland and lea — Go! breathe on their slumber, All softly in ear, The musical number They slumber'd to hear — For what can awaken An angel so soon Whose sleep hath been taken Beneath the cold moon, As the spell which no slumber Of witchery may test, The rhythmical number Which lull'd him to rest?"

Spirits in wing, and angels to the view, A thousand seraphs burst th' Empyrean thro',

Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight — Seraphs in all but "Knowledge," the keen light That fell, refracted, thro' thy bounds, afar O Death! from eye of God upon that star: Sweet was that error — sweeter still that death — Sweet was that error — ev'n with us the breath Of Science dims the mirror of our joy — To them 't were the Simoom, and would destroy — For what (to them) availeth it to know That Truth is Falsehood — or that Bliss is Woe? Sweet was their death — with them to die was rife With the last ecstasy of satiate life — Beyond that death no immortality — But sleep that pondereth and is not "to be" — And there — oh! may my weary spirit dwell — 1 1.26Apart from Heaven's Eternity—and yet how far from Hell! What guilty spirit, in what shrubbery dim, Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn?

But two: they fell: for Heaven no grace imparts To those who hear not for their beating hearts. A maiden-angel and her seraph-lover — O! where (and ye may seek the wide skies over) Was Love, the blind, near sober Duty known? 1 1.27Unguided Love hath fallen — 'mid "tears of perfect moan." He was a goodly spirit — he who fell: A wanderer by moss-y-mantled well — A gazer on the lights that shine above — A dreamer in the moonbeam by his love: What wonder? for each star is eye-like there, And looks so sweetly down on Beauty's hair — And they, and ev'ry mossy spring were holy To his love-haunted heart and melancholy. The night had found (to him a night of wo) Upon a mountain crag, young Angelo — Beetling it bends athwart the solemn sky, And scowls on starry worlds that down beneath it lie. Here sate he with his love — his dark eye bent With eagle gaze along the firmament: Now turn'd it upon her — but ever then It trembled to the orb of EARTH again.

"Ianthe, dearest, see! how dim that ray! How lovely 't is to look so far away! She seem'd not thus upon that autumn eve I left her gorgeous halls — nor mourn'd to leave. That eve — that eve — I should remember well — The sun-ray dropp'd, in Lemnos, with a spell On th' Arabesque carving of a gilded hall Wherein I sate, and on the draperied wall —

And on my eye-lids — O the heavy light! How drowsily it weigh'd them into night! On flowers, before, and mist, and love they ran With Persian Saadi in his Gulistan: But O that light! — I slumber'd — Death, the while, Stole o'er my senses in that lovely isle So softly that no single silken hair Awoke that slept — or knew that he was there. The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon 1 1.28Was a proud temple call'd the Parthenon — More beauty clung around her column'd wall 2 1.29Than ev'n thy glowing bosom beats withal, And when old Time my wing did disenthral Thence sprang I — as the eagle from his tower, And years I left behind me in an hour. What time upon her airy bounds I hung One half the garden of her globe was flung Unrolling as a chart unto my view — Tenantless cities of the desert too! Ianthe, beauty crowded on me then, And half I wish'd to be again of men." "My Angelo! and why of them to be? A brighter dwelling-place is there for thee — And greener fields than in yon world above, And woman's loveliness — and passionate love."

"But, list, Ianthe! when the air so soft 3 1.30Fail'd, as my pennon'd spirit leapt aloft, Perhaps my brain grew dizzy — but the world I left so late was into chaos hurl'd —

Sprang from her station, on the winds apart, And roll'd, a flame, the fiery Heaven athwart. Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar And fell — not swiftly as I rose before, But with a downward, tremulous motion thro' Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto! Nor long the measure of my falling hours, For nearest of all stars was thine to ours — Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth, A red Dædalion on the timid Earth.

"We came — and to thy Earth — but not to us Be given our lady's bidding to discuss: We came, my love; around, above, below, Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go, Nor ask a reason save the angel-nod She grants to us, as granted by her God — But, Angelo, than thine grey Time unfurl'd Never his fairy wing o'er fairier world! Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes Alone could see the phantom in the skies, When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be Headlong thitherward o'er the starry sea— But when its glory swell'd upon the sky, As glowing Beauty's bust beneath man's eye, We paus'd before the heritage of men, And thy star trembled — as doth Beauty then!"

Thus, in discourse, the lovers whiled away The night that waned and waned and brought no day. They fell: for Heaven to them no hope imparts Who hear not for the beating of their hearts.

ROMANCE

ROMANCE, who loves to nod and sing,With drowsy head and folded wing,Among the green leaves as they shakeFar down within some shadowy lake,To 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 lie,A child — with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal Condor yearsSo shake the very Heaven on highWith tumult as they thunder by,I have no time for idle caresThrough gazing on the unquiet sky.And when an hour with calmer wingsIts down upon my spirit flings —That little time with lyre and rhymeTo while away — forbidden things!My heart would feel to be a crimeUnless it trembled with the strings.

SONG

I SAW thee on thy bridal day —When a burning blush came o'er thee,Though happiness around thee lay,The world all love before thee:

And in thine eye a kindling light(Whatever it might be)Was all on Earth my aching sightOf Loveliness could see.

That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame —As such it well may pass —Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flameIn the breast of him, alas!

Who saw thee on that bridal day,When that deep blush would come o'er thee,Though happiness around thee lay,The world all love before thee.

DREAMS

OH! that my young life were a lasting dream!My spirit not awakening, till the beamOf an Eternity should bring the morrow.Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,'T were better than the cold realityOf waking life, to him whose heart must be,And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.But should it be — that dream eternallyContinuing — as dreams have been to meIn my young boyhood — should it thus be given,'T were folly still to hope for higher Heaven.For I have revell'd when the sun was brightI' the summer sky, in dreams of living light,And loveliness, — have left my very heartInclines of my imagining, apartFrom mine own home, with beings that have beenOf mine own thought — what more could I have seen?'T was once — and only once — and the wild hourFrom my remembrance shall not pass — some powerOr spell had bound me — 't was the chilly windCame o'er me in the night, and left behindIts image on my spirit — or the moonShone on my slumbers in her lofty noonToo coldly — or the stars — howe'er it wasThat dream was as that night-wind — let it pass.

I have been happy, tho' in a dream.I have been happy — and I love the theme:

Dreams! in their vivid colouring of life As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife Of semblance with reality which brings To the delirious eye, more lovely things Of Paradise and Love — and all our own! Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD

I

THY soul shall find itself alone'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tomb-stone —Not one, of all the crowd, to pryInto thine hour of secrecy:

II

Be silent in that solitude,Which is not loneliness — for thenThe spirits of the dead who stoodIn life before thee are againIn death around thee — and their willShall overshadow thee: be still.

III

The night — tho' clear — shall frown —And the stars shall look not down,From their high thrones in the heaven,With light like Hope to mortals given —But their red orbs, without beam,To thy weariness shall seemAs a burning and a feverWhich would cling to thee for ever.

IV

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish —Now are visions ne'er to vanish —From thy spirit shall they passNo more — like dew-drops from the grass.

V

The breeze — the breath of God — is still — And the mist upon the hill Shadowy — shadowy — yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token — How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries! —

EVENING STAR

'T WAS noontide of summer,And mid-time of night;And stars, in their orbits,Shone pale, thro' the lightOf the brighter, cold moon,'Mid planets her slaves,Herself in the Heavens,Her beam on the waves.I gazed awhileOn her cold smile;Too cold — too cold for me —There pass'd, as a shroud,A fleecy cloud,And I turn'd away to thee,Proud Evening Star,In thy glory afar,And dearer thy beam shall be;For joy to my heartIs the proud partThou bearest in Heaven at night,And more I admireThy distant fire,Than that colder, lowly light.

TO —

1 1.31

TAKE this kiss upon thy brow!And, in parting from you now,Thus much let me avow —You are not wrong, to deemThat my days have been a dream;Yet if Hope has flown awayIn a night, or in a day,In a vision, or in none,Is it therefore the less gone?All that we see or seemIs but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roarOf a surf-tormented shore,And I hold within my handGrains of the golden sand —How few! yet how they creepThrough my fingers to the deep,While I weep — while I weep!O, God! can I not graspThem with a tighter clasp?O, God! can I not saveOne from the pitiless wave?Is all that we see or seemBut a dream within a dream?

"IN YOUTH HAVE I KNOWN ONE WITH
WHOM THE EARTH"1 1.32

How often we forget all time, when loneAdmiring Nature's universal throne;Her woods — her wilds — her mountains — the intenseReply of HERS to our intelligence! 2 1.33

1

IN youth have I known one with whom the EarthIn secret communing held — as he with it,In daylight, and in beauty from his birth:Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was litFrom the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forthA passionate light — such for his spirit was fit —And yet that spirit knew not, in the hourOf its own fervour, what had o'er it power.

2

Perhaps it may be that my mind is wroughtTo a ferver by the moonbeam that hangs o'er,But I will half believe that wild light fraughtWith more of sovereignty than ancient loreHath ever told — or is it of a thoughtThe unembodied essence, and no more,That with a quickening spell doth o'er us passAs dew of the night-time o'er the summer grass?

3

Doth o'er us pass, when, as th' expanding eye To the loved object — so the tear to the lid Will start, which lately slept in apathy? And yet it need not be — (that object) hid From us in life — but common — which doth lie Each hour before us — but then only, bid With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken, To awake us — 'T is a symbol and a token

4

Of what in other worlds shall be — and given In beauty by our God, to those alone Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven Drawn by their heart's passion, and that tone, That high tone of the spirit which hath striven, Tho' not with Faith — with godliness — whose throne With desperate energy 't hath beaten down; Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.

A DREAM

IN visions of the dark nightI have dreamed of joy departed —But a waking dream of life and lightHath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by dayTo him whose eyes are castOn things around him with a rayTurned back upon the past?

That holy dream — that holy dream,While all the world were chiding,Hath cheered me as a lovely beamA lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,So trembled from afar —What could there be more purely brightIn Truth's day-star?

"THE HAPPIEST DAY, THE HAPPIEST HOUR"

THE happiest day — the happiest hour My sear'd and blighted heart hath known, The highest hope of pride and power, I feel hath flown.

Of power! said I? yes! such I ween; But they have vanish'd long, alas! The visions of my youth have been — But let them pass.

And, pride, what have I now with thee? Another brow may even inherit The venom thou hast pour'd on me — Be still, my spirit!

The happiest day — the happiest hour Mine eyes shall see — have ever seen, The brightest glance of pride and power, I feel — have been:

But were that hope of pride and power Now offer'd, with the pain Even then I felt — that brightest hour I would not live again:

For on its wing was dark alloy, And, as it flutter'd — fell An essence — powerful to destroy A soul that knew it well.

THE LAKE

To —

IN youth's spring it was my lotTo haunt of the wide world a spotThe which I could not love the less,So lovely was the lonelinessOf a wild lake with black rock bound,And the tall pines that tower'd around —

But when the night had thrown her pallUpon that spot, as upon all,And the ghastly wind went byIn a dirge-like melody,Then — ah then I would awakeTo the terror of that lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,But a tremulous delight —A feeling not the jewell'd mineCould teach or bribe me to define,Nor love — although the love were thine.

Death was in that poison'd wave,And in its depth a fitting graveFor him who thence could solace bringTo his lone imagining —Whose solitary soul could makeAn Eden of that dim lake.

TO —

THE bowers whereat, in dreams, I see The wantonest singing birds, Are lips — and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words —

Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined Then desolately fall, O God! on my funeral mind Like starlight on a pall —

Thy heart — thy heart! — I wake and sigh, And sleep to dream till day Of the truth that gold can never buy — Of the baubles that it may.

TO THE RIVER —

FAIR river! in thy bright, clear flowOf crystal, wandering water,Thou art an emblem of the glowOf beauty — the unhidden heart —The playful maziness of artIn old Alberto's daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks —Which glistens then, and trembles —Why, then, the prettiest of brooksHer worshipper resembles;For in his heart, as in thy stream,Her image deeply lies —His heart which trembles at the beamOf her soul-searching eyes.

TO —

I HEED not that my earthly lotHath — little of Earth in it —That years of love have been forgotIn the hatred of a minute: —I mourn not that the desolateAre happier, sweet, than I,But that you sorrow for my fateWho am a passer by.

FAIRY-LAND

DIM vales — and shadowy floods —And cloudy-looking woods,Whose forms we can't discoverFor the tears that drip all over.Huge moons there wax and wane —Again — again — again —Every moment of the night —Forever changing places —And they put out the star-lightWith the breath from their pale faces.About twelve by the moon-dialOne more filmy than the rest(A kind which, upon trial,They have found to be the best)Comes down — still down — and downWith its centre on the crownOf a mountain's eminence,While its wide circumferenceIn easy drapery fallsOver hamlets, over halls,Wherever they may be —O'er the strange woods — o'er the sea —Over spirits on the wing —Over every drowsy thing —And buries them up quiteIn a labyrinth of light —And then, how deep! — O, deep!Is the passion of their sleep.

In the morning they arise, And their moony covering Is soaring in the skies, With the tempests as they toss, Like — almost any thing — Or a yellow Albatross. They use that moon no more For the same end as before — Videlicet a tent — Which I think extravagant: Its atomies, however, Into a shower dissever, Of which those butterflies, Of Earth, who seek the skies, And so come down again (Never-contented things!) Have brought a specimen Upon their quivering wings.

TO HELEN

HELEN, thy beauty is to meLike those Nicéan barks of yore,That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,The weary, way-worn wanderer boreTo his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,Thy Naiad airs have brought me homeTo the glory that was Greece,And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-nicheHow statue-like I see thee stand,The agate lamp within thy hand!Ah, Psyche, from the regions whichAre Holy-Land!

FROM AN ALBUM (ALONE)

FROM childhood's hour I have not been As others were — I have not seen As others saw — I could not bring My passions from a common spring — From the same source I have not taken My sorrow — I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone — And all I lov'd — I lov'd alone — Then — in my childhood — in the dawn Of a most stormy life — was drawn From ev'ry depth of good and ill The 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'd In its autumn tint of gold — From the lightning in the sky As it pass'd me flying by — From the thunder, and the storm — And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view —

Notes

• 1 1.1

  A star was discovered by Tycho Brahe which appeared suddenly in the heavens — attained, in a few days, a brilliancy surpassing that of Jupiter — then as suddenly disappeared, and has never been seen since.
• 1 1.2

  On Santa Maura — olim Deucadia.
• 2 1.3

  Sappho.
• 3 1.4

  This flower is much noticed by Lewenhoeck and Tournefort. The bee, feeding upon its blossom, becomes intoxicated.
• 1 1.5

  Clytia — The Chrysanthemum Peruvianum, or, to employ a better-known term, the turnsol — which turns continually towards the sun, covers itself, like Peru, the country from which it comes, with dewy clouds which cool and refresh its flowers during the most violent heat of the day. — B. de St. Pierre.
• 2 1.6

  There is cultivated in the king's garden at Paris, a species of serpentine aloes without prickles, whose large and beautiful flower exhales a strong odour of the vanilla, during the time of its expansion, which is very short. It does not blow till towards the month of July — you then perceive it gradually open its petals — expand them — fade and die. — St. Pierre.
• 1 1.7

  There is found, in the Rhone, a beautiful lily of the Valisnerian kind. Its stem will stretch to the length of three or four feet — thus preserving its head above water in the swellings of the river.
• 2 1.8

  The Hyacinth.
• 3 1.9

  It is a fiction of the Indians, that Cupid was first seen floating in one of these down the river Ganges — and that he still loves the cradle of his childhood.
• 4 1.10

  And golden vials full of odors which are the prayers of the saints. — Rev. St. John.
• 1 1.11

  The Humanitarians held that God was to be understood as having really a human form. — Vide Clarke's Sermons,

  The drift of Milton's argument, leads him to employ language which would appear, at first sight, to verge upon their doctrine; but it will be seen immediately, that he guards himself against the charge of having adopted one of the most ignorant errors of the dark ages of the church. — Dr. Surnner's Notes on Milton's Christian Doctrine.

  This opinion, in spite of many testimonies to the contrary, could never have been very general. Andeus, a Syrian of Mesopotamia, was condemned for the opinion, as heretical. He lived in the beginning of the fourth century. His disciples were called Anthropomorphites. — Vide Du Pin.

  Among Milton's minor poems are these lines: — Dicite sacrorum præsides nemorum Deæ, &c.Quis ille primus cujus ex imagineNatura solers finxit humanum genus?Eternus, incorruptus, æquævus polo,Unusque et universus exemplar Dei. — And afterwards,Non cui profundum Cæcitas lumen deditDircæus augur vidit hunc alto sinu, &c.
• 1 1.12

  Seltsamen Tochter JovisSeinem SchosskindeDer Phantasie. —Göethe.
• 2 1.13

  Sightless — too small to be seen. — Legge.
• 1 1.14

  I have often noticed a peculiar movement of the fire-flies; — they will collect in a body and fly off, from a common centre, into innumerable radii.
• 2 1.15

  Therasæa, or Therasea, the island mentioned by Seneca, which, in a moment, arose from the sea to the eyes of astonished mariners.
• 1 1.16

  Some star which, from the ruin'd roof Of shak'd Olympus, by mischance, did fall.

  — Milton.
• 1 1.17

  Voltaire, in speaking of Persepolis says, "Je connois bien l'admiration qu'inspirent ces ruines — mais un palais erigé au pied d'une chaine des rochers sterils — peut il être un chef d'œuvre des arts!"
• 2 1.18

  "O, the wave " — Ula Deguisi is the Turkish appellation; but, on its own shores, it is called Bahar Loth, or Almotanah. There were undoubtedly more than two cities engulphed in the "dead sea." In the valley of Siddim were five — Adrah, Zeboin, Zoar, Sodom and Gomorrah. Stephen of Byzantium mentions eight, and Strabo thirteen, (engulphed) — but the last is out of all reason.

  It is said (Tacitus, Strabo, Josephus, Daniel of St. Saba, Nau, Maundrell, Troilo, D'Arvieux) that after an excessive drought, the vestiges of columns, walls, &c. are seen above the surface. At any season, such remains may be discovered by looking down into the transparent lake, and at such distances as would argue the exisitence of many settlements in the space now usurped by the 'Asphaltites.'
• 3 1.19

  Eyraco — Chaldea.
• 4 1.20

  I have often thought I could distinctly hear the sound of the darkness as it stole over the horizon.
• 1 1.21

  Fairies use flowers for their charactery. — Merry Wives of Windsor.
• 2 1.22

  In Scripture is this passage — "The sun shall not harm thee by day, nor the moon by night." It is perhaps not generally known that the moon, in Egypt, has the effect of producing blindness to those who sleep with the face exposed to its rays, to which circumstance the passage evidently alludes.
• 1 1.23

  The Albatross is said to sleep on the wing.
• 2 1.24

  I met with this idea in an old English tale, which I am now unable to obtain and quote from memory: — "The verie essence and, as it were, springeheade and origine of all musiche is the verie pleasaunte sounde which the trees of the forest do make when they growe.''
• 1 1.25

  The wild bee will not sleep in the shade if there be moonlight.

  The rhyme in this verse, as in one about sixty lines before, has an appearance of affectation. It is, however, imitated from Sir W. Scott, or rather from Claud Halcro — in whose mouth I admired its affect: O! were there an island,Tho' ever so wildWhere woman might smile, andNo man be beguil'd, &c.
• 1 1.26

  With the Arabians there is a medium between Heaven and Hell, where men suffer no punishment, but yet do not attain that tranquil and even happiness which they suppose to be characteristic of heavenly enjoyment.

  Un no rompido sueno —Un dia puro — allegre — libreQuiera —Libre de amor — de zelo —De odio — de esperanza — de rezelo.— Luis Ponce de Leon.

  Sorrow is not excluded from "Al Aaraaf," but it is that sorrow which the living love to cherish for the dead, and which, in some minds, resembles the delirium of opium. The passionate excitement of Love and the buoyancy of spirit attendant upon intoxication are its less holy pleasures — the price of which, to those souls who make choice of "Al Aaraaf" as their residence after life, is final death and annihilation.
• 1 1.27

  There be tears of perfect moan Wept for thee in Helicon.

  — Milton.
• 1 1.28

  It was entire in 1687 — the most elevated spot in Athens.
• 2 1.29

  Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows Than have the white breasts of the Queen of Love.

  — Marlowe.
• 3 1.30

  Pennon — for pinion. — Milton.
• 1 1.31

  Poe's title in the Flag of Our Union was "A Dream within a Dream."
• 1 1.32

  The late E. C. Stedman gave this the title of "Stanzas" in the Stedman-Woodberry edition of Poe's poems, which all succeeding editions have followed.
• 2 1.33

  Byron, "The Island."