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Thursday, April 09, 2009

Moon Grab

1 Comments:

Blogger Romita said...

A Moon Poem
by Edgar Allen Poe

I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
I must not say how many- but not
many.
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that like thine own
soul soaring,
Sought a precipitate pathway up through
heaven,
There fell a silvery silken veil of light,
With quietude, and sultriness and
slumber,
Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on
tiptoe-
Fell on the upturn'd faces of these
roses
That gave out, in return for the love-
light,
Their odorous souls in an ecstatic
death-
Fell on the upturned faces of these
roses
That smiled and died in this parterre,
enchanted
by thee, and by the poetry of thy
presence.
Clad all in white, upon a violet bank
I saw thee half-reclining; while the
moon
Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses,
And on thine own, upturn'd- alas, in
sorrow!
Was it not Fate, that, on this July mid-
night-
Was it not Fate (whose name is also
Sorrow),
That bade me pause before that garden-
gate,
To breathe the incense of those slum-
bering roses?
No footstep stirred: the hated world
all slept,
Save only thee and me. I paused- I
looked-
And in an instant all things disap-
peared.
(Ah, bear in mind this garden was
enchanted!)
The pearly lustre of the moon went
out:
The mossy banks and the meandering
paths,
The happy flowers and the repining
trees,
Were seen no more: the very roses'
odours
Died in the arms of the adoring airs.
All- all expired save thee- save less
than thou:
Save only the devine light in thine
eyes.
I saw but them- they were the world
to me.
I saw but them- saw only them for
hours-
Saw only them till the moon went
down.
What wild heart-histories seemed to lie
enwritten
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a woe! yet how sublime a
hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride!
How adoring an ambition! yet how
deep-
How fathomless a capacity for love!
But now, at length, dear Dian sank
from sight,
Into the western couch of a thunder-cloud;
And thou, a ghost, amid entombing
trees
Didst glide away. only thine eyes
Remained.
They would not go- they never yet
have gone.
Lighting my lonely pathway home that
night,
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since.
They follow me- they lead me through
the years.
They are my ministers- yet I their
slave.
Their office is to illuminate and enkindle-
My duty, to be saved by their bright
light
And purified in their electric fire,
And sanctified in their elysian fire.
They fill my soul with Beauty (which
is Hope.)
And are far up in Heaven- the stars
I kneel to
In the sad, slient watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day
I see them still- two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

6:25 AM

 

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