Poem's From Poe

Contents
1.) The Raven
2.) The Doomed City
3.) The Haunted Place

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -- 
                                        Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had tried to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore -- 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -- 
                                        Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door -- 
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; -- 
                                        This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you " -- here I opened wide the door; ---- 
                                        Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" -- 
                                        Merely this, and nothing more.
Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. 
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -- 
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-- 
                                        'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; 
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -- 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -- 
                                        Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, 
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore -- 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" 
                                       Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -- 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 
                                       With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered -- 
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before -- 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." 
                                       Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster so when Hope he would adjure -- 
Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure -- 
                                       That sad answer, "Never -- nevermore."
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -- 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore 
                                       Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, 
                                        She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 
Swung by Angels whose faint 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 nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore; 
Let me quaff this kind nepenthe 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 in 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 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!


the Doomed City

Lo ! Death hath rear'd himself a throne 
In a strange city, all alone, 
Far down within the dim west — 
And the good, and the bad, and the worst, and the best, 
Have gone to their eternal rest. 

There shrines, and palaces, and towers 
Are — not like any thing of ours — 
O ! no — O! no — ours never loom 
To heaven with that ungodly gloom! 
Time-eaten towers that tremble not! 
Around, by lifting winds forgot, 
Resignedly beneath the sky 
The melancholy waters lie. 

A heaven that God doth not contemn 
With stars is like a diadem — 
We liken our ladies' eyes to them —

[page 50:] 
But there ! that everlasting pall! 
It would be mockery to call 
Such dreariness a heaven at all. 
Yet tho' no holy rays come down 
On the long night-time of that town, 
Light from the lurid, deep sea 
Streams up the turrets silently — 
Up thrones — up long-forgotten bowers 
Of sculptur'd ivy and stone flowers — 
Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls — 
Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls — 
Up many a melancholy shrine 
Whose entablatures intertwine 
The mask the — the viol —  and the vine. 

There open temples — open graves 
Are on a level with the waves — 
But not the riches there that lie 
In each idol's diamond eye. 
Not the gaily-jewell'd dead 
Tempt the waters from their bed: 
For no ripples curl,  alas! 
Along that wilderness of glass — 
 

[page 51:] 
No swellings hint that winds may be 
Upon a far-off happier sea: 
So blend the turrets and shadows there 
That all seem pendulous in air, 
While from the high towers of the town 
Death looks gigantically down. 
But lo! a stir is in the air! 
The wave! there is a ripple there! 
As if the towers had thrown aside, 
In slightly sinking, the dull tide — 
As if the turret-tops had given 
A vacuum in the filmy heaven: 
The waves have now a redder glow — 
The very hours are breathing low — 
And when, amid no earthly moans, 
Down, down that town shall settle hence, 
Hell rising from a thousand thrones 
Shall do it reverence, 
And Death to some more happy clime 
Shall give his undivided time.


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[In reading this poem, the modern mind tends immediately to think of Atlantis, the fabled paradise that has long usurped any recollection of other submerged cities. As has often been suggested, the more likely source for Poe was the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, both still visible beneath the Dead Sea. In his poem "Al Aaraaf," Poe includes the following note: "There were, undoubtedly, more than two cities engluphed in the 'dead sea.' In the valley of Siddim were five — Adrah, Zeboin, Zoar,  Sodom, and Gomorrah. Stephen, of Byzantium, mentions eight, and Strabo, thirteeen, (engulphed) — but the last is out of all reason.  It is said, (Tacitus, Strabo, Josephus, Daniel, of St. Saba, Nau, Maundrell, Troilo, D'Arvieux) that, after an excessive drought, the vestiges of columns, walls, &c. are seen above the surface. At any season, such remains may be discoverd by looking down into the transparent lake, and at such distances as would argue the existence of many settlements in the space now usurped by the 'Asphaltites.'"] 


The Haunted Place

In the greenest of our valleys 
    By good angels tenanted, 
Once a fair and stately palace — 
    Snow-white palace — reared its head. 
In the monarch thought's dominion — 
                It stood there! 
Never Seraph spread his pinion 
    Over fabric half so fair. 

Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 
    On its roof did float and flow — 
This — all this — was in the olden 
                Time long ago — 
And every gentle air that dallied, 
                 In that sweet day, 
Along the rampart plumed and pallid, 
    A winged odour went away. 

All wanderers in that happy valley, 
    Through two luminous windows saw 
Spirits moving musically 
    To a lute's well tuned law, 
Round about a throne where sitting 
                (Porphyrogene!) 
In state his glory well befitting, 
    The sovereign of the realm was seen. 

And all with pearl and ruby glowing 
    Was the fair palace door ; 
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, 
    And sparkling evermore, 
A troop of echoes, whose sweet duty 
                Was but to sing 
In voices of surpassing beauty, 
    The wit and wisdom of their king. 

But evil things in robes of sorrow, 
    Assailed the monarch's high estate! 
Ah, let us mourn — for never morrow 
    Shall dawn upon him desolate! 
And round about his home the glory, 
                That blushed and bloomed, 
Is but a dim-remembered story 
    Of the old time entombed. 

And travellers now within that valley, 
    Through the red-litten windows, see 
Vast forms that move fantastically 
    To a discordant melody; 
While, like a rapid ghastly river, 
                Through the pale door; 
A hideous throng rush out forever, 
    And laugh — but smile no more.

 