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C.N. Douglas, comp.  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical.  1917.
 
Poe
 
          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 lamplight 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.
  1
            Hear the mellow wedding bells,
        Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells
  Through the balmy air of night
  How they ring out their delight!
  From the molten golden notes,
      And all in tune
  What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens while she gloats
        On the moon!
  2
          Out—out are the lights—out all!
    And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
    Comes down with the rush of a storm,
  And the angels, all pallid and wan,
    Uprising, unveiling, affirm
  That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
    And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
  3
                            Sound—
That stealeth ever on the ear of him
Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim,
And sees the darkness coming as a cloud—
Is not its form—its voice—most palpable and loud?
  4
        That holy dream—that holy dream,
  While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
  A lonely spirit guiding.
  5
  His eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming.  6
 
 
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