Edgar Allan Poe Poems

  • 1.  
    In youth's spring, it was my lot
    To haunt of the wide earth a spot The which I could not love the less;
  • 2.  
    I.
    I have sent for thee, holy friar;1
  • 3.  
    Thy soul shall find itself alone
    Alone of all on earth, unknown The cause, but none are near to pry
  • 4.  
    I.
    In the greenest of our valleys, By good angels tenanted,
  • 5.  
    In speaking of the Poetic Principle, I have no design to be either thorough or profound. While discussing, very much at random, the essentiality of what we call Poetry, my principal purpose will be to cite for consideration, some few of those minor English or American poems which best suit my own taste, or which, upon my own fancy, have left the most definite impression. By "minor poems" I mean, of course, poems of little length. And here, in the beginning, permit me to say a few words in regard to a somewhat peculiar principle, which, whether rightfully or wrongfully, has always had its influence in my own critical estimate of the poem. I hold that a long poem does not exist. I maintain that the phrase, "a long poem," is simply a flat contradiction in terms.
    I need scarcely observe that a poem deserves its title only inasmuch as it excites, by elevating the soul. The value of the poem is in the ratio of this elevating excitement. But all excitements are, through a psychal necessity, transient. That degree of excitement which would entitle a poem to be so called at all, cannot be sustained throughout a composition of any great length. After the lapse of half an hour, at the very utmost, it flags fails a revulsion ensues and then the poem is, in effect, and in fact, no longer such.
  • 6.  
    I heed not that my earthly lot
    Hath--little of Earth in it, That years of love have been forgot
  • 7.  
    It should not be doubted that at least one-third of the affection with which we regard the elder poets of Great Britain should be attributed to what is, in itself, a thing apart from poetry we mean to the simple love of the antique and that, again, a third of even the proper poetic sentiment inspired by their writings should be ascribed to a fact which, while it has strict connection with poetry in the abstract, and with the old British poems themselves, should not be looked upon as a merit appertaining to the authors of the poems.
    Almost every devout admirer of the old bards, if demanded his opinion of their productions,would mention vaguely, yet with perfect sincerity, a sense of dreamy,wild, indefinite, and he would perhaps say, indefinable delight; on being required to point out the source of this so shadowy pleasure, he would be apt to speak of the quaint in phraseology and in general handling. This quaintness is, in fact, a very powerful adjunct to ideality, but in the case in question it arises independently of the author's will, and is altogether apart from his intention.
  • 8.  
    Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
    In the mad pride of intellectuality, Maintained "the power of words", denied that ever
  • 9.  
    Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
    Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take! How many memories of what radiant hours
  • 10.  
    The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
    The wantonest singing birds,
  • 11.  
    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,
  • 12.  
    It is with humility really unassumed, it is with a sentiment even of awe, that I pen the opening sentence of this work: for of all conceivable subjects I approach the reader with the most solemn, the most comprehensive, the most difficult, the most august.
    What terms shall I find sufficiently simple in their sublimity -- sufficiently sublime in their simplicity, for the mere enunciation of my theme?
  • 13.  
    There are some qualities, some incorporate things,
    That have a double life, which thus is made A type of that twin entity which springs
  • 14.  
    Helen, thy beauty is to me
    Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
  • 15.  
    The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
    The wantonest singing birds, Are lips, and all thy melody
  • 16.  
    In spring of youth it was my lot
    To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less,
  • 17.  
    High on a mountain of enamell'd head,
    Such as the drowsy shepherd on his bed Of giant pasturage lying at his ease,
  • 18.  
    I.
    ROME., A Hall in a Palace. ALESSANDRA and CASTIGLIONE
  • 19.  
    The noblest name in Allegory's page,
    The hand that traced inexorable rage; A pleasing moralist whose page refined,
  • 20.  
    The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
    The wantonest singing birds, Are lips- and all thy melody
  • 21.  
    PART I
    O! nothing earthly save the ray
  • 22.  
    Elizabeth it is in vain you say
    'Love not' â?? thou sayest it in so sweet a way: In vain those words from thee or L. E. L.
  • 23.  
    The happiest day- the happiest hour
    My sear'd and blighted heart hath known, The highest hope of pride and power,
  • 24.  
    Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
    Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take! How many memories of what radiant hours
  • 25.  
    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,
  • 26.  
    How often we forget all time, when lone
    Admiring Nature's universal throne; Her woods- her wilds- her mountains- the intense
  • 27.  
    How shall the burial rite be read?
    The solemn song be sung? The requiem for the loveliest dead,
  • 28.  
    Elizabeth, it surely is most fit
    [Logic and common usage so commanding] In thy own book that first thy name be writ,
  • 29.  
    O! I care not that my earthly lot
    Hath little of Earth in it, That years of love have been forgot
  • 30.  
    The only king by right divine
    Is Ellen King, and were she mine I'd strive for liberty no more,
  • 31.  
    Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
    In the mad pride of intellectuality, Maintained "the power of words"- denied that ever
  • 32.  
    Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes -
    Upon the sinner's sacrifice, Of fervent prayer and humble love,
  • 33.  
    Thou wouldst be loved?- then let thy heart
    From its present pathway part not! Being everything which now thou art,
  • 34.  
    There are some qualities- some incorporate things,
    That have a double life, which thus is made A type of that twin entity which springs
  • 35.  
    Seraph! thy memory is to me
    Like some enchanted far-off isle In some tumultuous sea -
  • 36.  
    I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
    I must not say how many- but not many. It was a July midnight; and from out
  • 37.  
    When from your gems of thought I turn
    To those pure orbs, your heart to learn, I scarce know which to prize most high â??
  • 38.  
    So sweet the hour, so calm the time,
    I feel it more than half a crime, When Nature sleeps and stars are mute,
  • 39.  
    Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-
    Of all to whom thine absence is the night- The blotting utterly from out high heaven
  • 40.  
    I'll tell you a plan for gaining wealth,
    Better than banking, trade or leases â?? Take a bank note and fold it up,
  • 41.  
    Beloved! amid the earnest woes
    That crowd around my earthly path- (Drear path, alas! where grows
  • 42.  
    Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
    And cloudy-looking woods, Whose forms we can't discover
  • 43.  
    The ring is on my hand,
    And the wreath is on my brow; Satin and jewels grand
  • 44.  
    Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
    Of crystal, wandering water, Thou art an emblem of the glow
  • 45.  
    The bells! â?? ah, the bells!
    The little silver bells! How fairy-like a melody there floats
  • 46.  
    The skies they were ashen and sober;
    The leaves they were crisped and sere- The leaves they were withering and sere;
  • 47.  
    I.
    In the greenest of our valleys, By good angels tenanted,
  • 48.  
    The skies they were ashen and sober;
    The leaves they were crisped and sere- The leaves they were withering and sere;
  • 49.  
    Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
    Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!How many memories of what radiant hours
  • 50.  
    Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
    Of crystal, wandering water,Thou art an emblem of the glow
Total 109 poems written by Edgar Allan Poe

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
All The Hills And Vales Along
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

All the hills and vales along
Earth is bursting into song,
And the singers are the chaps
Who are going to die perhaps.
O sing, marching men,
Till the valleys ring again.
Give your gladness to earth's keeping,
So be glad, when you are sleeping.
...

Read complete poem

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