The Complete Poetry. Эдгар Аллан По

      And when I bade the dream

       Upon thy spirit flee,

       Thy violet eyes to me

       Upturned, did overflowing seem

       With the deep, untold delight

       Of Love's serenity;

       Thy classic brow, like lilies white

       And pale as the Imperial Night

       Upon her throne, with stars bedight,

       Enthralled my soul to thee!

       III

      Ah! ever I behold

       Thy dreamy, passionate eyes,

       Blue as the languid skies

       Hung with the sunset's fringe of gold;

       Now strangely clear thine image grows,

       And olden memories

       Are startled from their long repose

       Like shadows on the silent snows

       When suddenly the night-wind blows

       Where quiet moonlight lies.

       IV

      Like music heard in dreams,

       Like strains of harps unknown,

       Of birds for ever flown,—

       Audible as the voice of streams

       That murmur in some leafy dell,

       I hear thy gentlest tone,

       And Silence cometh with her spell

       Like that which on my tongue doth dwell,

       When tremulous in dreams I tell

       My love to thee alone!

       V

      In every valley heard,

       Floating from tree to tree,

       Less beautiful to me,

       The music of the radiant bird,

       Than artless accents such as thine

       Whose echoes never flee!

       Ah! how for thy sweet voice I pine:—

       For uttered in thy tones benign

       (Enchantress!) this rude name of mine

       Doth seem a melody!

      The Village Street

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      In these rapid, restless shadows,

       Once I walked at eventide,

       When a gentle, silent maiden,

       Walked in beauty at my side.

       She alone there walked beside me

       All in beauty, like a bride.

       Pallidly the moon was shining

       On the dewy meadows nigh;

       On the silvery, silent rivers,

       On the mountains far and high,—

       On the ocean's star-lit waters,

       Where the winds a-weary die.

       Slowly, silently we wandered

       From the open cottage door,

       Underneath the elm's long branches

       To the pavement bending o'er;

       Underneath the mossy willow

       And the dying sycamore.

       With the myriad stars in beauty

       All bedight, the heavens were seen,

       Radiant hopes were bright around me,

       Like the light of stars serene;

       Like the mellow midnight splendor

       Of the Night's irradiate queen.

       Audibly the elm-leaves whispered

       Peaceful, pleasant melodies,

       Like the distant murmured music

       Of unquiet, lovely seas;

       While the winds were hushed in slumber

       In the fragrant flowers and trees.

       Wondrous and unwonted beauty

       Still adorning all did seem,

       While I told my love in fables

       'Neath the willows by the stream;

       Would the heart have kept unspoken

       Love that was its rarest dream!

       Instantly away we wandered

       In the shadowy twilight tide,

       She, the silent, scornful maiden,

       Walking calmly at my side,

       With a step serene and stately,

       All in beauty, all in pride.

       Vacantly I walked beside her.

       On the earth mine eyes were cast;

       Swift and keen there came unto me

       Bitter memories of the past—

       On me, like the rain in Autumn

       On the dead leaves, cold and fast.

       Underneath the elms we parted,

       By the lowly cottage door;

       One brief word alone was uttered—

       Never on our lips before;

       And away I walked forlornly,

       Broken-hearted evermore.

       Slowly, silently I loitered,

       Homeward, in the night, alone;

       Sudden anguish bound my spirit,

       That my youth had never known;

       Wild unrest, like that which cometh

       When the Night's first dream hath flown.

       Now, to me the elm-leaves whisper

       Mad, discordant melodies,

       And keen melodies like shadows

       Haunt the moaning willow trees,

       And the sycamores with laughter

       Mock me in the nightly breeze.

       Sad and pale the Autumn moonlight

       Through the sighing foliage streams;

       And each morning, midnight shadow,

       Shadow of my sorrow seems;

       Strive, O heart, forget thine idol!

       And, O soul, forget thy dreams!

      The Forest Reverie

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      'Tis said that when

       The hands of men

       Tamed this primeval wood,

       And hoary trees with groans of wo,

       Like warriors by an unknown foe,

       Were in their strength subdued,

       The virgin Earth

       Gave instant birth

       To springs that ne'er did flow—

       That