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    The Raven and Other Favorite Poems (The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe)
    The Raven and Other Favorite Poems (The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe)
    The Raven and Other Favorite Poems (The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe)
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    The Raven and Other Favorite Poems (The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe)

    By Edgar Allan Poe

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    "With me poetry has been not a purpose, but a passion."–Edgar Allan Poe. Containing such famous works as "The Raven", "Lenore", "Annabel Lee", and "To Helen", this complete collection of poetry by Edgar Allan Poe encapsulates the career of one of the best-known and most read American writers. Laden with tones of loneliness, melancholy and despair, the poetry contained in this volume exerted great influence on the American Romantic and the French Symbolist Movements of the nineteenth century. Today, Poe's poetry is appreciated for its literary genius, not only because of his command of language, rhythms and dramatic imagery, but also because of its emotional insight into a beautiful and tormented mind. His propensity towards the mysterious and the macabre, as well as an ardent preoccupation with death, has led centuries of scholars and readers to enjoy these poems of love, death, and loneliness.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDigireads.com Publishing
    Release dateJan 1, 2010
    ISBN9781420937572
    The Raven and Other Favorite Poems (The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe)
    Author

    Edgar Allan Poe

    Edgar Allan Poe (1809–49) reigned unrivaled in his mastery of mystery during his lifetime and is now widely held to be a central figure of Romanticism and gothic horror in American literature. Born in Boston, he was orphaned at age three, was expelled from West Point for gambling, and later became a well-regarded literary critic and editor. The Raven, published in 1845, made Poe famous. He died in 1849 under what remain mysterious circumstances and is buried in Baltimore, Maryland.

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      The Raven and Other Favorite Poems (The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe) - Edgar Allan Poe

      THE RAVEN

      AND OTHER FAVORITE POEMS

      (THE COMPLETE POEMS OF

      EDGAR ALLAN POE)

      A Digireads.com Book

      Digireads.com Publishing

      Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-3503-5

      Ebook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-3757-2

      This edition copyright © 2011

      Please visit www.digireads.com

      CONTENTS

      ANNABEL LEE

      TO MY MOTHER

      HYMN

      A VALENTINE

      FAIRY-LAND

      TO HELEN

      ISRAFEL

      THE CITY IN THE SEA

      THE SLEEPER

      LENORE

      THE VALLEY OF UNREST

      THE COLISEUM

      SONNET TO ZANTE

      BRIDAL BALLAD. TO — —

      SONNET—SILENCE

      DREAM-LAND

      EULALIE—A SONG

      TO F——

      TO F——S S. O——D

      THE RAVEN

      TO M. L. S—

      ULALUME

      TO —— ——

      TO HELEN

      AN ENIGMA

      FOR ANNIE

      THE BELLS

      ELDORADO

      A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM

      STANZAS

      A DREAM

      THE HAPPIEST DAY, THE HAPPIEST HOUR

      THE LAKE: TO——

      SONNET—TO SCIENCE

      AL AARAAF

      ROMANCE

      TO ——

      TO THE RIVER——

      TO ——

      TAMERLANE

      TO —— ——

      DREAMS

      SPIRITS OF THE DEAD

      EVENING STAR

      ELIZABETH

      SERENADE

      IMITATION

      HYMN TO ARISTOGEITON AND HARMODIUS

      SCENES FROM POLITIAN

      A PÆAN

      TO ISADORE

      ALONE

      TO ONE IN PARADISE

      THE HAUNTED PALACE

      THE CONQUEROR WORM

      THE VILLAGE STREET

      THE FOREST REVERIE

      ANNABEL LEE

      It was many and many a year ago,

      In a kingdom by the sea,

      That a maiden lived whom you may know

      By the name of ANNABEL LEE;

      And this maiden she lived with no other thought

      Than to love and be loved by me.

      I was a child and she was a child,

      In this kingdom by the sea:

      But we loved with a love that was more than love—

      I and my ANNABEL LEE;

      With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

      Coveted her and me.

      And this was the reason that, long ago,

      In this kingdom by the sea,

      A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

      My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

      So that her high-born kinsmen came

      And bore her away from me,

      To shut her up in a sepulchre

      In this kingdom by the sea.

      The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

      Went envying her and me—

      Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

      In this kingdom by the sea)

      That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

      Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

      But our love it was stronger by far than the love

      Of those who were older than we—

      Of many far wiser than we—

      And neither the angels in heaven above,

      Nor the demons down under the sea,

      Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

      Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE,

      For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

      Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

      And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

      Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;

      And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

      Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

      In her sepulchre there by the sea,

      In her tomb by the side of the sea.

      TO MY MOTHER

      Because I feel that, in the heavens above,

      The angels, whispering to one another,

      Can find, among their burning terms of love,

      None so devotional as that of Mother,

      Therefore by that dear name I long have called you,

      You who are more than mother unto me,

      And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you,

      In setting my Virginia's spirit free.

      My mother—my own mother, who died early,

      Was but the mother of myself; but you

      Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,

      And thus are dearer than the mother I knew

      By that infinity with which my wife

      Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

      HYMN

      At morn—at noon—at twilight dim—

      Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!

      In joy and woe—in good and ill—

      Mother of God, be with me still!

      When the Hours flew brightly by

      And not a cloud obscured the sky,

      My soul, lest it should truant be,

      Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;

      Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast

      Darkly my Present and my Past,

      Let my Future radiant shine

      With sweet hopes of thee and thine!

      A VALENTINE

      For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,

      Brightly expressive as the twins of Loeda,

      Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies

      Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.

      Search narrowly the lines!—they hold a treasure

      Divine—a talisman—an amulet

      That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure—

      The words—the syllables! Do not forget

      The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor!

      And yet there is in this no Gordian knot

      Which one might not undo without a sabre,

      If one could merely comprehend the plot.

      Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering

      Eyes' scintillating soul, there lie perdus

      Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing

      Of poets, by poets—as the name is a poet's too.

      Its letters, although naturally lying

      Like the knight Pinto—Mendez Ferdinando—

      Still form a synonym for Truth.—Cease trying!

      You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

      [To translate the address, read the first letter of the first line in connection with the second letter of the second line, the third letter of the third line, the fourth of the fourth, and so on to the end. The name will thus appear.]

      FAIRY-LAND

      Dim vales—and shadowy floods—

      And cloudy-looking woods,

      Whose forms we can't discover

      For 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-light

      With the breath from their pale faces.

      About twelve by the moon-dial

      One more filmy than the rest

      (A kind which, upon trial,

      They have found to be the best)

      Comes down—still down—and down

      With its centre on the crown

      Of a mountain's eminence,

      While its wide circumference

      In easy drapery falls

      Over 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 quite

      In 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

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