Edgar allan poe

[ياسمين]

A COMPLETE COLLECTION OF POEMS

BY









EDGAR ALLAN POE


(Born January 19, 1809, Died October 7, 1849)


Biography of Edgar Allan Poe





Poe, a great 19th-century American author, was

born on Jan 19, 1809, in Boston, Mass. Both his

parents died when Poe was two years old, and

he was taken into the home of John Allan

a wealthy tobacco exporter of Richmond, Va

Although Poe was never legally adopted, he

.used his foster father's name as his middle name

After several years in a Richmod academy, Poe

was sent to the University of Virginia. After

a year, John Allan refused to give him more

money, possibly because of Poe's losses at

.gambling. Poe then had to leave the university

In 1827 he published, in Boston, Tamerlane and

Other Poems. This was the first volume of his

poems, and was published anonymously. The book

made no money, and Poe enlisted in the United

States Army under an assumed name. After he

served two years, his foster father arranged for

him to be honorably discharged and to enter

the United States Military Academy. But, within

six months, Poe was dismissed because of neglect

.of duty

Poe then began to write stories for magazines

In 1831, he published Poems by Edgar A. Poe, which

he dedicated to the cadets of the U.S. Military

Academy. In 1833, he won a cash prize for the story

MS. Found in a Bottle. In 1835, he jointed the staff

of the Richmond Magazine, Southern Literary

Messenger. Within a year, the circulation of the

magazine increased seven times thanks to the

.popularity of Poe's stories

Poe, however, soon lost his job with the magazine

because of his drinking. In 1836, he married

beautiful Virginia Clemm, the 13-year-old daughter

of his aunt. The following year he lived in New

York City, and the next year he drifted to Philadelphia

There he became associate editor of Burton's

Gentleman's Magazine. He contributed literary

criticism, reviews, poems, and some of his most

. famous stories to this magazine

In 1840, Poe published Tales of the Grotesque

and Arabesque, a two-volume set of his stories

As literary editor of Graham's Magazine, he

wrote the famous stories, A Descent into

the Maelstrom, and The Masque

of Red Death.

In 1843, Poe won a prize of his story The Gold

Bug. This story, along with such earlier tales

as The Purloined Letter and The Murders in the Rue

Morgue, set the standard of the modern detective

story. He reached the heights of his fame in 1845

with his poem The Raven. That same year he was

. appointed literary critic of the New York Mirror

The long illness of Virginia Poe and her death

in 1847 almost wrecked Poe. His mental

and physical condition grew steadily worse

and he tried to commit suicide. Still, in 1848

and 1849 Poe was able to delivera series of

lecture tours. He died in 1849 in Baltimore

and the notes from his lectures were published

posthumously in 1850, under the title The Poetic

Principles The work, along with The Rationale of

Verse (1843) and The Philosophy of Composition

(1846) ranks among .the best examples of Poe's

literary criticism

[الجنرال 2009]

Thank you for this information useful

[ياسمين]

المشاركة الأصلية بواسطة الجنرال 2009

Thank you for this information useful

hi general 2009



.just a quick note to thank you for your reply

.it's a great pleasure to know you liked my text

.my great regards

[ياسمين]

Al Aaraaf 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

[ياسمين]

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 know-

In 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:-