......Don's Fantasy Page......
Edgar Allan
Poe
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
TIME
WAITS FOR NO ONE......
The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe
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 -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name
Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, under certain 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 is it 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 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 Raven of 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 contenance 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 living human 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, siting lonely on the placid
bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did
outpour.
Nothing farther 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, 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, me thought, the air grew denser, perfumed
from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose 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;
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 of parting, bird or
fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get three 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 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!
Annabel Lee
Edgar Allan Poe
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.
A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by
day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream- that holy
dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro'
storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?
Evening Star
Edgar Allan Poe
'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.
The Haunted Palace
Edgar Allan Poe
In the greenest
of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace- reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a 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 ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
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 ruler 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 ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh- but smile no more.
Fantasy Art
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Images on this WEB page have been gathered from other WEB Sites throughout the WWW and may or may not be copyright protected. Display of images is for the purpose of viewing and artistic appreciation without purpose of monitary gain.
If any person or orginization owns copyrights to any images displayed on this site, and would like them removed, please notify me via e-mail at donmail3@cox.net and I will remove them, or add a requested link to the owner.