The Raven and Other Selected Poems. Эдгар Аллан По

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СКАЧАТЬ methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

      Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

      “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

      Respite—respite and nepenthé from thy memories of Lenore!

      Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthé, and forget this lost Lenore!”

      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

      “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

      Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

      Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

      On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

      Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

      “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

      By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore—

      Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

      It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

      Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

      “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

      “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

      Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

      Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

      Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

      And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

      On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

      And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

      And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

      And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

      Shall be lifted—nevermore!

      1845

SELECTED POEMS 1827–1849

       A DREAM

      In visions of the dark night

      I have dreamed of joy departed—

      But a waking dream of life and light

      Hath left me broken-hearted.

      Ah! what is not a dream by day

      To him whose eyes are cast

      On things around him with a ray

      Turned back upon the past?

      That holy dream—that holy dream,

      While all the world were chiding,

      Hath cheered me as a lovely beam,

      A lonely spirit guiding.

      What though that light, thro’ storm and night,

      So trembled from afar—

      What could there be more purely bright

      In Truth’s day star?

      1827

       A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM

      Take this kiss upon the brow!

      And, in parting from you now,

      Thus much let me avow—

      You are not wrong, who deem

      That my days have been a dream:

      Yet if hope has flown away

      In a night, or in a day,

      In a vision or in none,

      Is it therefore the less gone?

      All that we see or seem

      Is but a dream within a dream.

      I stand amid the roar

      Of a surf-tormented shore,

      And I hold within my hand

      Grains of the golden sand—

      How few! yet how they creep

      Through my fingers to the deep

      While I weep—while I weep!

      O God! can I not grasp

      Them with a tighter clasp?

      O God! can I not save

      One from the pitiless wave?

      Is all that we see or seem

      But a dream within a dream?

      1827

       DREAMS

      Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!

      My spirit not awakening, till the beam

      Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.

      Yes! though that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,

      ’Twere better than the cold reality

      Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,

      And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,

      A СКАЧАТЬ