The Complete Collection of Poems
by Edgar Allan Poe
January
19, 1809, October 7, 1849
PART
I
O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty’s eye, As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy—
O! nothing earthly save the thrill Of melody in woodland rill-Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy’s voice so peacefully departed That like the murmur in the shell, Its echo dwelleth and will dwell-Oh, nothing of the dross of ours—
Yet all the beauty-all the flowers That list our Love, and deck our bowers-Adorn yon world afar, afar—
The wandering star.
‘Twas a sweet time for Nesace-for there Her world lay lolling on the golden air, Near four bright suns-a temporary rest-An oasis in desert of the blest.
Away-away- ‘mid seas of rays that roll Empyrean splendor o’er th’ unchained soul-The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense) Can struggle to its destin’d eminence,-
To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode And late to ours, the favor’d one of God-But, now, the ruler of an anchor’d realm, She throws aside the sceptre-leaves the helm, And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns, Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.
Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth, Whence sprang the “Idea of Beauty” into birth, (Falling in wreaths thro’ many a startled star, Like woman’s hair ‘mid pearls, until, afar, It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt) She looked into Infinity-and knelt.
Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled-Fit emblems of the model of her world-Seen but in beauty-not impeding sight Of other beauty glittering thro’ the light-A wreath that twined each starry form around, And all the opal’d air in color bound.
All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed Of flowers: of lilies such as rear’d the head On the fair Capo Deucato, and sprang So eagerly around about to hang
Upon the flying footsteps of-deep pride-Of her who lov’d a mortal-and so died.
The Sephalica, budding with young bees, Upreared its purple stem around her knees:-
And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnam’d-Inmate of highest stars, where erst it sham’d All other loveliness:- its honied dew (The fabled nectar that the heathen knew) Deliriously sweet, was dropp’d from Heaven, And fell on gardens of the unforgiven In Trebizond-and on a sunny flower So like its own above that, to this hour, It still remaineth, torturing the bee With madness, and unwonted reverie: In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf And blossom of the fairy plant in grief Disconsolate linger-grief that hangs her head, Repenting follies that full long have Red, Heaving her white breast to the balmy air, Like guilty beauty, chasten’d and more fair: Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light She fears to perfume, perfuming the night: And Clytia, pondering between many a sun, While pettish tears adown her petals run: And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth, And died, ere scarce exalted into birth, Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king: And Valisnerian lotus, thither flown”
From struggling with the waters of the Rhone: And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante!
Isola d’oro!- Fior di Levante!
And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever With Indian Cupid down the holy river-Fair flowers, and fairy! to whose care is given To bear the Goddess’ song, in odors, up to Heaven: “Spirit! that dwellest where,
In the deep sky,
The terrible and fair,
In beauty vie!
Beyond the line of blue—
The boundary of the star
Which turneth at the view
Of thy barrier and thy bar—
Of the barrier overgone
By the comets who were cast
From their pride and from their throne To be drudges till the last-To be carriers of fire
(The red fire of their heart)
With speed that may not tire
And with pain that shall not part—
Who livest-that we knowIn Eternity-we feel—
But the shadow of whose brow
What spirit shall reveal?
Tho’ the beings whom thy Nesace,
Thy messenger hath known
Have dream’d for thy Infinity
A model of their own—
Thy will is done, O God!
The star hath ridden high
Thro’ many a tempest, but she rode Beneath thy burning eye;
And here, in thought, to thee—
In thought that can alone
Ascend thy empire and so be
A partner of thy throne—
By winged Fantasy,
My embassy is given,
Till secrecy shall knowledge be
In the environs of Heaven.”
She ceas’d-and buried then her burning cheek Abash’d, amid the lilies there, to seek A shelter from the fervor of His eye; For the stars trembled at the Deity.
She stirr’d not-breath’d not-for a voice was there How solemnly pervading the calm air!
A sound of silence on the startled ear Which dreamy poets name “the music of the sphere.”
Ours is a world of words: Quiet we call “Silence”- which is the merest word of all.
All Nature speaks, and ev’n ideal things Flap shadowy sounds from visionary wings-But ah! not so when, thus, in realms on high The eternal voice of God is passing by, And the red winds are withering in the sky:-
“What tho ‘in worlds which sightless cycles run, Linked to a little system, and one sun-Where all my love is folly and the crowd Still think my terrors but the thunder cloud, The storm, the earthquake, and the ocean-wrath-
(Ah! will they cross me in my angrier path?) What tho’ in worlds which own a single sun The sands of Time grow dimmer as they run, Yet thine is my resplendency, so given To bear my secrets thro’ the upper Heaven!
Leave tenantless thy crystal home, and fly, With all thy train, athwart the moony sky-Apart- like fire-flies in Sicilian night, And wing to other worlds another light!
Divulge the secrets of thy embassy To the proud orbs that twinkle-and so be To ev’ry heart a barrier and a ban Lest the stars totter in the guilt of man!”
Up rose the maiden in the yellow night, The single-mooned eve!- on Earth we plight Our faith to one love-and one moon adore-The birth-place of young Beauty had no more.
As sprang that yellow star from downy hours Up rose the maiden from her shrine of flowers, And bent o’er sheeny mountains and dim plain Her way, but left not yet her Therasaean reign.
PART
II
High on a mountain of enamell’d head-Such as the drowsy shepherd on his bed Of giant pasturage lying at his ease, Raising his heavy eyelid, starts and sees With many a mutter’d “hope to be forgiven”
What time the moon is quadrated in Heaven-Of rosy head that, towering far away Into the sunlit ether, caught the ray Of sunken suns at eve-at noon of night, While the moon danc’d with the fair stranger light-Uprear’d upon such height arose a pile Of gorgeous columns on th’ unburthen’d air, Flashing from Parian marble that twin smile Far down upon the wave that sparkled there, And nursled the young mountain in its lair.
Of molten stars their pavement, such as fall Thro’ the ebon air, besilvering the pall Of their own dissolution, while they die-Adorning then the dwellings of the sky.
A dome, by linked light from Heaven let down, Sat gently on these columns as a crown-A window of one circular diamond, there, Look’d out above into the purple air, And rays from God shot down that meteor chain And hallow’d all the beauty twice again, Save, when, between th’ empyrean and that ring, Some eager spirit Flapp’d his dusky wing.
But on the pillars Seraph eyes have seen The dimness of this world: that greyish green That Nature loves the best Beauty’s grave Lurk’d in each cornice, round each architrave-And every sculptur’d cherub thereabout That from his marble dwelling peered out, Seem’d earthly in the shadow of his niche-Achaian statues in a world so rich!
Friezes from Tadmor and Persepolis-From Balbec, and the stilly, clear abyss Of beautiful Gomorrah! O, the wave Is now upon thee-but too late to save!
Sound loves to revel in a summer night: Witness the murmur of the grey twilight That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco, Of many a wild star-gazer long ago-That stealeth ever on the ear of him Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim, And sees the darkness coming as a cloud-Is not its form-its voice-most palpable and loud?
But what is this?- it cometh, and it brings A music with it- ‘tis the rush of wings-A pause-and then a sweeping, falling strain And Nesace is in her halls again.
From the wild energy of wanton haste Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart; And zone that clung around her gentle waist Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart.
Within the centre of that hall to breathe, She paused and panted, Zanthe! all beneath, The fairy light that kiss’d her golden hair And long’d to rest, yet could but sparkle there.