| 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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