The stories they have сказал(-а) were true
There was once a young girl like me and you
That loved to read Edgar Allen Poe
How her сердце felt Чтение his tales of woe
She lived in the 1800's
Rebellious, young and dark
She wanted to be a young Joan of Arc
As she ran away to see Poe
Virginia to Boston, a long long rode
As her parents were waiting for her at her humble abode
Then, she felt disbelief when she heard
The madness of Edgar Allen Poe
People disapproved of him
Trying to ruin her long strange trip
But she still goes on saying
She longs to hear his tales of murder, Любовь and woe
One день she stumbled to a home
Very old and ruined
She walked inside and saw
Darkness and the stench of strong liquor
The heard a man cursing to himself
As she saw him dressed in black Письмо in candle light
Drugged and drunk as can be
She thinks this cannot be the famous Edgar Allen Poe
She asks him of his stories
He speaks so oddly, she cannot understand his muttering
His depression goes on and on
As she backs up against the wall
Frightened at the sight
She wishes for less candle light
So she could be blinded from the monster filled with woe
The drunken and drugged Edgar Allen Poe
She ran back home,heart racing with each beat
As Edgar passed out, feeling defeat
All of the stories of murder Любовь and woe
She thought they couldn't have came from this drunken man named Poe
She came back Главная saddened and сердце broken
Чтение his work and stories
Wondering how such great Письмо could come from such monstrosity
The stories she really understood and connected with
The man she saw she had nothing in common with
Sad and heartbroken she still wondered how
All the stories came to be
From a person from a mad drunken stuiper
She wonders how these stories came alive onto the page
There was once a young girl like me and you
That loved to read Edgar Allen Poe
How her сердце felt Чтение his tales of woe
She lived in the 1800's
Rebellious, young and dark
She wanted to be a young Joan of Arc
As she ran away to see Poe
Virginia to Boston, a long long rode
As her parents were waiting for her at her humble abode
Then, she felt disbelief when she heard
The madness of Edgar Allen Poe
People disapproved of him
Trying to ruin her long strange trip
But she still goes on saying
She longs to hear his tales of murder, Любовь and woe
One день she stumbled to a home
Very old and ruined
She walked inside and saw
Darkness and the stench of strong liquor
The heard a man cursing to himself
As she saw him dressed in black Письмо in candle light
Drugged and drunk as can be
She thinks this cannot be the famous Edgar Allen Poe
She asks him of his stories
He speaks so oddly, she cannot understand his muttering
His depression goes on and on
As she backs up against the wall
Frightened at the sight
She wishes for less candle light
So she could be blinded from the monster filled with woe
The drunken and drugged Edgar Allen Poe
She ran back home,heart racing with each beat
As Edgar passed out, feeling defeat
All of the stories of murder Любовь and woe
She thought they couldn't have came from this drunken man named Poe
She came back Главная saddened and сердце broken
Чтение his work and stories
Wondering how such great Письмо could come from such monstrosity
The stories she really understood and connected with
The man she saw she had nothing in common with
Sad and heartbroken she still wondered how
All the stories came to be
From a person from a mad drunken stuiper
She wonders how these stories came alive onto the page
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnet-
Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff-
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while Ты con it."
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.
The general tuckermanities are arrant
Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent-
But this is, now- Ты may depend upon it-
Stable, opaque, immortal- all by dint
Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnet-
Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff-
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while Ты con it."
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.
The general tuckermanities are arrant
Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent-
But this is, now- Ты may depend upon it-
Stable, opaque, immortal- all by dint
Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.
Thou wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine-
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain
and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the Цветы were mine.
Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
'On! on!'- but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!
For, alas! alas! me
For me the light of Life is over!
'No more- no more- no more-'
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree
или the stricken eagle soar!
And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams-
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.
For which my soul did pine-
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain
and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the Цветы were mine.
Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
'On! on!'- but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!
For, alas! alas! me
For me the light of Life is over!
'No more- no more- no more-'
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree
или the stricken eagle soar!
And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams-
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.
Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes -
Upon the sinner's sacrifice,
Of fervent prayer and humble love,
From thy holy трон above.
At morn - at noon - at twilight dim -
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
In joy and wo - in good and ill -
Mother of God, be with me still!
When the Hours flew brightly by,
And not a облако obscured the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;
Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine!
Upon the sinner's sacrifice,
Of fervent prayer and humble love,
From thy holy трон above.
At morn - at noon - at twilight dim -
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
In joy and wo - in good and ill -
Mother of God, be with me still!
When the Hours flew brightly by,
And not a облако obscured the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;
Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine!
The ring
is on my hand,
And the wreath is on my brow;
Satin and jewels grand
Are all at my command,
And I am happy now.
And my lord he loves me well;
But, when first he breathed his vow,
I felt my bosom swell-
For the words rang as a knell,
And the voice seemed his who fell
In the battle down the dell,
And who is happy now.
But he spoke to re-assure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o'er me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now!"
And thus the words were spoken,
And this the plighted vow,
And, though my faith be broken,
And, though my сердце be broken,
Here is a ring, as token
That I am happy now!
Would God I could awaken!
For I dream I know not how!
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,-
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.
is on my hand,
And the wreath is on my brow;
Satin and jewels grand
Are all at my command,
And I am happy now.
And my lord he loves me well;
But, when first he breathed his vow,
I felt my bosom swell-
For the words rang as a knell,
And the voice seemed his who fell
In the battle down the dell,
And who is happy now.
But he spoke to re-assure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow,
While a reverie came o'er me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now!"
And thus the words were spoken,
And this the plighted vow,
And, though my faith be broken,
And, though my сердце be broken,
Here is a ring, as token
That I am happy now!
Would God I could awaken!
For I dream I know not how!
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,-
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.
Ok so my class saw a video on his life today....saaaaaad. Literally nothing went right for this dude. I mean even tho he wrote some damn good prose because of it, I wouldnt wish that much distress on anybody...ever. Most disturbing was the way in which he died. Nobody will ever know for sure, but the theory that he was used as a repeat voter is quite tragic. Possibly my fav story by him is The Masque of the Red Death...if u haven't read it, do do now. It's pretty badass.
Anyway, I'm supposed to be doing homework. But like, nawww. So yeah. I wonder if there will be a movie made about his life where someone actually plays him. I'd pay to c that any day.
Have any I'd u heard Vincent price's Чтение of The Raven....makes it 10 and 1/2 times scarier.
So long! :D
Anyway, I'm supposed to be doing homework. But like, nawww. So yeah. I wonder if there will be a movie made about his life where someone actually plays him. I'd pay to c that any day.
Have any I'd u heard Vincent price's Чтение of The Raven....makes it 10 and 1/2 times scarier.
So long! :D