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To -- --

Edgar Allan Poe 1809 (Boston) – 1849 (Baltimore)

Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
  In the mad pride of intellectuality,
  Maintained "the power of words"- denied that ever
  A thought arose within the human brain
  Beyond the utterance of the human tongue:
  And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
  Two words- two foreign soft dissyllables-
  Italian tones, made only to be murmured
  By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew
  That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,"
  Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
  Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought,
  Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions
  Than even seraph harper, Israfel,
  (Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures,")
  Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken.
  The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.
  With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee,
  I cannot write- I cannot speak or think-
  Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling,
  This standing motionless upon the golden
  Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams.
  Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista,
  And thrilling as I see, upon the right,
  Upon the left, and all the way along,
  Amid empurpled vapors, far away
  To where the prospect terminates- thee only.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

1:02 min read
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Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe was an American author, poet, editor, and literary critic, considered part of the American Romantic Movement. he was especially known for his amazing poem "Annabelle Lee". And we love the songs made out of his poetry. more…

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