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"Annabel Lee" -
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there 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 highborn kinsman 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 the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Edgar Allan Poe
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"Rosa Mystica" -
Requiescat
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.
Peace, peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's burried here,
Heap earth upon it.
Avignon
Oscar Wilde
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"Sonnet LXVI" -
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
William Shakespeare
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"The Vampire" -
Thou who abruptly as a knife
Didst come into my heart; thou who,
A demon horde into my life,
Didst enter, wildly dancing, through
The doorways of my sense unlatched
To make my spirit thy domain-
Harlot to whom I am attached
As convicts to the ball and chain
As gamblers to the wheel's bright spell
As drunkards to their raging thirst,
As corpses to their worms-accurst
Be thou ! Oh, be thou damned to hell !
I have entreated the swift sword
To strike, that I at once be freed;
The poisoned phial I have implored
To plot with me a ruthless deed.
Alas!the phial and the blade
Do cry aloud and laugh at me:
"Thou art not worthy of our aid;
Thou art not worthy to be free.
Though one of us should be the tool
To save thee from thy wretched fate,
Thy kisses would resuscitate
The body of thy vampire, fool !"
Charles Baudelaire
"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 visitor,' 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 sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost 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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor 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 wodering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no martals ever dared to dream before ;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness 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.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard 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 ravenof the saintly days of yore ;
Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute 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 or 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 living human being
Ever yet was blest 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.'
Then the bird said, 'Nevermore'.
Startled 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 till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore".'
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy 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, 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 me head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore !
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tafted floor.
'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath snt thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore !
Quaff, oh 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 teh 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 our 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 jsut 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 !
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