A classic collection from the exquisite lyric “To Helen” to the immortal masterpieces „Annabel Lee,” "The Bells," and „The Raven,” The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe demonstrates the author's gift for the form.
The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe 10 csillagozás
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Kedvencelte 2
Most olvassa 1
Várólistára tette 4
Kívánságlistára tette 7
Kiemelt értékelések
Őrület! Imádom! Fantasztikus látomások, merengő hangulat, minden versnek szinte énekelhető dallama van, és rímek, rímek, rímek! Úgy látszik, én versben is a konzervatívabb stílust kedvelem, nekem a vers pontosan azt jelenti, amiket Poe írt. Persze érdekesek a szabadversek is, de azokban nincs meg ez a lüktető ritmus, nincs ez a dallam. Néhol még az ősi szokás (metrikus hagyományok) szerinti alliteráló sorok is megvannak. Bűvöletben élek 2 napja, amióta ezeket a költeményeket olvasom. Egyes darabjait már legalább háromszor újraolvastam, és még mindig nem elég. Hogy befejezem-e valaha? Nevermore!!!
Népszerű idézetek
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Alone
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
The City in the Sea
'T was noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.
Evening Star
Hear the tolling of the bells--
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy meaning of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people--ah, the people--
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone--
They are neither man nor woman--
They are neither brute nor human--
They are Ghouls:--
And their king it is who tolls ;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the pæan of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells ;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pæan of the bells--
Of the bells.
The Bells
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
The Raven
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