The Complete Poetry. Эдгар Аллан По
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Название: The Complete Poetry

Автор: Эдгар Аллан По

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

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isbn: 4064066382087

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      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 chaos of deep passion, from his birth.

       But should it be—that dream eternally

       Continuing—as dreams have been to me

       In my young boyhood—should it thus be given,

       'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.

       For I have revelled when the sun was bright

       I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light

       And loveliness,—have left my very heart

       Inclines of my imaginary apart

       From mine own home, with beings that have been

       Of mine own thought—what more could I have seen?

       'Twas once—and only once—and the wild hour

       From my remembrance shall not pass—some power

       Or spell had bound me—'twas the chilly wind

       Came o'er me in the night, and left behind

       Its image on my spirit—or the moon

       Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon

       Too coldly—or the stars—howe'er it was

       That dream was that that night-wind—let it pass.

       I have been happy, though in a dream. I have been happy—and I love the theme: Dreams! in their vivid coloring 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 my own!— Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

      "In Youth I have known one"

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      How often we forget all time, when lone

       Admiring Nature's universal throne;

       Her woods—her wilds—her mountains—the intense

       Reply of Hers to Our intelligence!

       I

      In youth I have known one with whom the Earth

       In secret communing held—as he with it,

       In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth:

       Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit

       From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth

       A passionate light such for his spirit was fit—

       And yet that spirit knew—not in the hour

       Of its own fervor—what had o'er it power.

       II

      Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought

       To a ferver by the moonbeam that hangs o'er,

       But I will half believe that wild light fraught

       With more of sovereignty than ancient lore

       Hath ever told—or is it of a thought

       The unembodied essence, and no more

       That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass

       As dew of the night-time, o'er the summer grass?

       III

      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

       T' awake us—'Tis a symbol and a token—

       IV

      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

       Though not with Faith—with godliness—whose throne

       With desperate energy 't hath beaten down;

       Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.

      A Pæan

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       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 dishonor

       Dead beauty with a tear!

       III

      They loved her for her wealth—

       And they hated her for her pride—

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