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C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Poe

  • 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 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.
  • Hear the mellow wedding bells,
  • Golden bells!
  • What a world of happiness their harmony foretells
  • Through the balmy air of night
  • How they ring out their delight!
  • From the molten golden notes,
  • And all in tune
  • What a liquid ditty floats
  • To the turtle-dove that listens while she gloats
  • On the moon!
  • Out—out are the lights—out all!
  • And, over each quivering form,
  • The curtain, a funeral pall,
  • Comes down with the rush of a storm,
  • And the angels, all pallid and wan,
  • Uprising, unveiling, affirm
  • That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
  • And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
  • Sound—
  • 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?
  • That holy dream—that holy dream,
  • While all the world were chiding,
  • Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
  • A lonely spirit guiding.
  • His eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming.