Edgar Allan Poe-Eldorado

Edgar Allan Poe


Eldorado

                   Gaily bedight,
                   A gallant knight,
               In sunshine and in shadow,
                   Had journeyed long,
                   Singing a song,
               In search of Eldorado.

                   But he grew old-
                   This knight so bold-
               And o'er his heart a shadow
                   Fell as he found
                   No spot of ground
               That looked like Eldorado.

                   And, as his strength
                   Failed him at length,
               He met a pilgrim shadow-
                   "Shadow," said he,
                   "Where can it be-
               This land of Eldorado?"

                   "Over the Mountains
                   Of the Moon,
               Down the Valley of the Shadow,
                   Ride, boldly ride,"
                   The shade replied-
               "If you seek for Eldorado!"

Edgar Allan Poe-A Dream Within a Dream

Edgar Allan Poe

A Dream Within a Dream

          Take this kiss upon the brow!
          And, in parting from you now,
          Thus much let me avow-
          You are not wrong, who deem
          That my days have been a dream;
          Yet if hope has flown away
          In a night, or in a day,
          In a vision, or in none,
          Is it therefore the less gone?
          All that we see or seem
          Is but a dream within a dream.

          I stand amid the roar
          Of a surf-tormented shore,
          And I hold within my hand
          Grains of the golden sand-
          How few! yet how they creep
          Through my fingers to the deep,
          While I weep- while I weep!
          O God! can I not grasp
          Them with a tighter clasp?
          O God! can I not save
          One from the pitiless wave?
          Is all that we see or seem
          But a dream within a dream?

Edgar Allan Poe-Dreams

Edgar Allan Poe

Dreams

    Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
    My spirit not awakening, till the beam
    Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
    Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
    'Twere better than the cold reality
    Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
    And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
    A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
    But should it be- that dream eternally
    Continuing- as dreams have been to me
    In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
    'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
    For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
    I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
    And loveliness,- have left my very heart
    In climes of my imagining, apart
    From mine own home, with beings that have been
    Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?
    'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
    From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
    Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
    Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
    Its image on my spirit- or the moon
    Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
    Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was
    That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.

    I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
    I have been happy- and I love the theme:
    Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
    As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
    Of semblance with reality, which brings
    To the delirious eye, more lovely things
    Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
    Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

Edgar Allan Poe - Alone

Edgar Allan Poe

Alone

        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.