Последний отзыв
Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
Далее
По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2024.
✖
The Works of Edgar Allan Poe – Volume 5
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
But I will half believe that wild light fraught
With more of sovereignty than ancient lore
Hath ever told-or is it of a thought
The unembodied essence, and no more
That with a quickening spell doth o’er us pass
As dew of the night-time, o’er the summer grass?
III
Doth o’er us pass, when, as th’ expanding eye
To the loved object-so the tear to the lid
Will start, which lately slept in apathy?
And yet it need not be – (that object) hid
From us in life-but common-which doth lie
Each hour before us – but then only bid
With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken
T’ awake us – ‘Tis a symbol and a token
IV
Of what in other worlds shall be – and given
In beauty by our God, to those alone
Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven
Drawn by their heart’s passion, and that tone,
That high tone of the spirit which hath striven
Though not with Faith-with godliness – whose throne
With desperate energy ‘t hath beaten down;
Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.
* Query “fervor”? – ED.
A PÆAN
I
How shall the burial rite be read?
The solemn song be sung?
The requiem for the loveliest dead,
That ever died so young?
II
Her friends are gazing on her,
And on her gaudy bier,
And weep! – oh! to dishonor
Dead beauty with a tear!
III
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.
IV
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 —
V
Or that my tone should be
Tun’d to such solemn song
So mournfully – so mournfully,
That the dead may feel no wrong.
VI
But she is gone above,
With young Hope at her side,
And I am drunk with love
Of the dead, who is my bride. —
VII
Of the dead – dead who lies
All perfum’d there,
With the death upon her eyes,
And the life upon her hair.
VIII
Thus on the coffin loud and long
I strike – the murmur sent
Through the grey chambers to my song,
Shall be the accompaniment.
IX
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.
X
From more than fiends on earth,
Thy life and love are riven,
To join the untainted mirth
With more of sovereignty than ancient lore
Hath ever told-or is it of a thought
The unembodied essence, and no more
That with a quickening spell doth o’er us pass
As dew of the night-time, o’er the summer grass?
III
Doth o’er us pass, when, as th’ expanding eye
To the loved object-so the tear to the lid
Will start, which lately slept in apathy?
And yet it need not be – (that object) hid
From us in life-but common-which doth lie
Each hour before us – but then only bid
With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken
T’ awake us – ‘Tis a symbol and a token
IV
Of what in other worlds shall be – and given
In beauty by our God, to those alone
Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven
Drawn by their heart’s passion, and that tone,
That high tone of the spirit which hath striven
Though not with Faith-with godliness – whose throne
With desperate energy ‘t hath beaten down;
Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.
* Query “fervor”? – ED.
A PÆAN
I
How shall the burial rite be read?
The solemn song be sung?
The requiem for the loveliest dead,
That ever died so young?
II
Her friends are gazing on her,
And on her gaudy bier,
And weep! – oh! to dishonor
Dead beauty with a tear!
III
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.
IV
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 —
V
Or that my tone should be
Tun’d to such solemn song
So mournfully – so mournfully,
That the dead may feel no wrong.
VI
But she is gone above,
With young Hope at her side,
And I am drunk with love
Of the dead, who is my bride. —
VII
Of the dead – dead who lies
All perfum’d there,
With the death upon her eyes,
And the life upon her hair.
VIII
Thus on the coffin loud and long
I strike – the murmur sent
Through the grey chambers to my song,
Shall be the accompaniment.
IX
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.
X
From more than fiends on earth,
Thy life and love are riven,
To join the untainted mirth
Другие электронные книги автора Эдгар Аллан По
Другие аудиокниги автора Эдгар Аллан По
Последний отзыв
Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
Далее