LENORE - Edgar Allan Poe
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toil!--a saintly soul floats on the Stygain river.
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?--weep now or never more!
See! on yon deaar and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the bridal rite be read--the funeral son be sung!--
An anthem for the queenliest dread that ever died so young--
A dirge for here, the doubly dead in that she died so young.
"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride.
And when she fell in feeble heath, ye blessed here--that she died!
How shall the ritual, then be read?--the requiem how be sung
By you--by yours, the evil eye,--by yours, the slanderous tounge
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"
"Pecccavimus ; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!
The sweet Lenore hath "gone before, with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been they bride--
For here, the fair and debonnaire, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes
"Avaunt! to-night my hear is light. No dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a paean of old days!
Let no bell toll!--lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned Earth.
To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven--
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven--
From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven.
Let the bell toil!--a saintly soul floats on the Stygain river.
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?--weep now or never more!
See! on yon deaar and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the bridal rite be read--the funeral son be sung!--
An anthem for the queenliest dread that ever died so young--
A dirge for here, the doubly dead in that she died so young.
"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride.
And when she fell in feeble heath, ye blessed here--that she died!
How shall the ritual, then be read?--the requiem how be sung
By you--by yours, the evil eye,--by yours, the slanderous tounge
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"
"Pecccavimus ; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!
The sweet Lenore hath "gone before, with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been they bride--
For here, the fair and debonnaire, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes
"Avaunt! to-night my hear is light. No dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a paean of old days!
Let no bell toll!--lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned Earth.
To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven--
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven--
From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven.