The Complete Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Эдгар Аллан По

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      Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!

       Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.

       Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,

       Vulture, whose wings are dull realities

       How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,

       Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering

       To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,

       Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing!

       Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?

       And driven the Hamadryad from the wood

       To seek a shelter in some happier star?

       Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,

       The Elfin from the green grass, and from me

       The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

       Private reasons—some of which have reference to the sin of plagiarism, and others to the date of Tennyson's first poems—have induced me, after some hesitation, to republish these, the crude compositions of my earliest boyhood. They are printed verbatim—without alteration from the original edition—the date of which is too remote to be judiciously acknowledged.—E. A. P. (1845).

Al Aaraaf1

       Table of Contents

       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—

       O! 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 favour'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 look'd 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 Deucato2, and sprang So eagerly around about to hang Upon the flying footsteps of—deep pride— Of her who lov'd a mortal—and so died3. The Sephalica, budding with young bees, Uprear'd its purple stem around her knees: And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnam'd4— 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 fled, 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 Clytia5 pondering between many a sun, While pettish tears adown her petals run: And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth6— 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 flown7 From struggling with the waters of the Rhone: And thy most lovely purple perfume, Zante8! Isola d'oro!—Fior di Levante! And the Nelumbo bud that floats for ever9 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:10 "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 own11— 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 Fantasy12, 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