62
" We will say, then, that I am mad. I grant, at least, that there are two distinct conditions of my mental existence-the condition of a lucid reason, not to be disputed, and belonging to the memory of events forming the first epoch of my life-and a condition of shadow and doubt, appertaining to the present, and to the recollection of what constitutes the second great era of my being. Therefore, what I shall tell of the earlier period, believe; and to what I may relate of the later time, give only such credit as may seem due, or doubt it altogether, or, if doubt it ye cannot, then play unto its riddle the Oedipus. "
― Edgar Allan Poe , The Complete Stories and Poems
69
" How shall the burial rite be read? The solemn song be sung? The requiem for the loveliest dead, That ever died so young? Her friends are gazing on her, And on her gaudy bier, And weep! — oh! to dishonor Dead beauty with a tear! They loved her for her wealth — And they hated her for her pride — But she grew in feeble health, And they love her — that she died. They tell me (while they speak Of her “costly broider’d pall”) That my voice is growing weak — That I should not sing at all — Or that my tone should be Tun’d to such solemn song So mournfully — so mournfully, That the dead may feel no wrong. But she is gone above, With young Hope at her side, And I am drunk with love Of the dead, who is my bride. — Of the dead — dead who lies All perfum’d there, With the death upon her eyes, And the life upon her hair. Thus on the coffin loud and long I strike — the murmur sent Through the grey chambers to my song, Shall be the accompaniment. Thou died’st in thy life’s June — But thou did’st not die too fair: Thou did’st not die too soon, Nor with too calm an air. From more than fiends on earth, Thy life and love are riven, To join the untainted mirth Of more than thrones in heaven — Therefore, to thee this night I will no requiem raise, But waft thee on thy flight, With a Pæan of old days. "
― Edgar Allan Poe , The Complete Stories and Poems
79
" 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. "
― Edgar Allan Poe , The Complete Stories and Poems