categories
- Traffic and Vehicles Catalogue
- socreal.catalog
- Advertisement Catalogue
- Photo Catalogue
- Chinese and Japanese Catalogue
- New Holy Card Catalogue II.
- 12 interesting old books
- Books
- Bibliophil
- Antiques
- Engraving
- Maps
- Photos
- Antique Papers, Small Prints
- Posters
- Circus
- Modern Graphics
- Socialist Realism
- NER Propaganda
- Others
cart
Cart is empty
You've not logged in
Poe, Edgar Allan : Spirits of the Dead - Tales and Poems
- description
- additional information
Series: Penguin Popular Classics.
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness-for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still. The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass. The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries! THE END
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness-for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still. The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass. The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries! THE END
condition: | |
category: | Books > Foreign Language Books > Books in English > |
publisher: | Penguin, (1997) |
item number / ISBN: | 9780140622393 |
binding: | paperback |
pages: | 278 |
language: | English |