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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’s that is dreaming,

       And the lamplight 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!

      Poems of Later Life

       Table of Contents

      TO

       THE NOBLEST OF HER SEX

      TO THE AUTHOR OF "THE DRAMA OF EXILE"

      TO

       MISS ELIZABETH BARRETT BARRETT, OF ENGLAND

      I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME

       WITH THE MOST ENTHUSIASTIC ADMIRATION AND WITH THE MOST SINCERE ESTEEM.

      E. A. P.

       Preface

       The Bells

       Ulalume

       To Helen

       Annabel Lee

       A Valentine

       An Enigma

       To My Mother

       For Annie

       To F——

       To Frances S. Osgood

       Eldorado

       Eulalie

       A Dream within a Dream

       To Marie Louise (Shew)

       To Marie Louise

       The City in the Sea

       The Sleeper

       Bridal Ballad

       Notes

      Preface

       Table of Contents

      These trifles are collected and republished chiefly with a view to their redemption from the many improvements to which they have been subjected while going at random the "rounds of the press." I am naturally anxious that what I have written should circulate as I wrote it, if it circulate at all. In defence of my own taste, nevertheless, it is incumbent upon me to say that I think nothing in this volume of much value to the public, or very creditable to myself. Events not to be controlled have prevented me from making, at any time, any serious effort in what, under happier circumstances, would have been the field of my choice. With me poetry has been not a purpose, but a passion; and the passions should be held in reverence: they must not—they cannot at will be excited, with an eye to the paltry compensations, or the more paltry commendations, of mankind.

      1845. E. A. P.

      The Bells

       Table of Contents

       I

      Hear the sledges with the bells—

       Silver bells!

       What a world of merriment their melody foretells!

       How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

       In their icy air of night!

       While the stars, that oversprinkle

       All the heavens, seem to twinkle

       With a crystalline delight;

       Keeping time, time, time,

       In a sort of Runic rhyme,

       To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells

       From the bells, bells, bells, bells,

       Bells, bells, bells—

       From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

       II

      Hear the mellow wedding bells,

       Golden bells!

       What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!

       Through the balmy air of night

       How they ring out their delight!

       From the molten golden-notes,

       And all in tune,

       What a liquid ditty floats

       To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats

       On the moon!

       Oh, from out the sounding cells,

       What a gush of euphony voluminously

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