Works of Edgar Allan Poe

'Living'

That burned in my brain.

And oh! of all tortures

That torture the worst

Has abated--the terrible

Torture of thirst,

For the naphthaline river

Of Passion accurst:--

I have drank of a water

That quenches all thirst:--

Of a water that flows,

With a lullaby sound,

From a spring but a very few

Feet under ground--

From a cavern not very far

Down under ground.

And ah! let it never

Be foolishly said

That my room it is gloomy

And narrow my bed--

For man never slept

In a different bed;

And, to sleep, you must slumber

In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit

Here blandly reposes,

Forgetting, or never

Regretting its roses--

Its old agitations

Of myrtles and roses:

For now, while so quietly

Lying, it fancies

A holier odor

About it, of pansies--

A rosemary odor,

Commingled with pansies--

With rue and the beautiful

Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,

Bathing in many

A dream of the truth

And the beauty of Annie--

Drowned in a bath

Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,

She fondly caressed,

And then I fell gently

To sleep on her breast--

Deeply to sleep

From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,

She covered me warm,

And she prayed to the angels

To keep me from harm--

To the queen of the angels

To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,

Now in my bed

(Knowing her love)

That you fancy me dead--

And I rest so contentedly,

Now in my bed,

(With her love at my breast)

That you fancy me dead--

That you shudder to look at me.

Thinking me dead.

But my heart it is brighter

Than all of the many

Stars in the sky,

For it sparkles with Annie--

It glows with the light

Of the love of my Annie--

With the thought of the light

Of the eyes of my Annie.

________

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To F--

Beloved! amid the earnest woes

That crowd around my earthly path--

(Drear path, alas! where grows

Not even one lonely rose)--

My soul at least a solace hath

In dreams of thee, and therein knows

An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me

Like some enchanted far-off isle

In some tumultuous sea--

Some ocean throbbing far and free

With storm--but where meanwhile

Serenest skies continually

Just o'er that one bright inland smile.

________

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To Frances S. Osgood

Thou wouldst be loved?--then let thy heart

From its present pathway part not;

Being everything which now thou art,

Be nothing which thou art not.

So with the world thy gentle ways,

Thy grace, thy more than beauty,

Shall be an endless theme of praise.

And love a simple duty.

________

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Eldorado

Gaily bedight,

A gallant knight,

In sunshine and in shadow,

Had journeyed long,

Singing a song,

In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old--

This knight so bold--

And o'er his heart a shadow

Fell as he found

No spot of ground

That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength

Failed him at length,

He met a pilgrim shadow--

'Shadow,' said he,

'Where can it be--

This land of Eldorado?'

'Over the Mountains

Of the Moon,

Down the Valley of the Shadow,

Ride, boldly ride,'

The shade replied,

'If you seek for Eldorado!'

________

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