Edgar Allan Poe

(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849 / Boston)

Edgar Allan Poe Quotes

  • ''Thank Heaven! the crisis —
    The danger, is past,
    And the lingering illness,
    Is over at last M,
    And the fever called "Living"
    Is conquered at last.''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1845), U.S. poet, critic, short-story writer. For Annie, st. 1.
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  • ''"Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1845), U.S. poet, critic, short-story writer. first published in New York Evening Mirror (Jan. 29, 1845). The Raven, st. 17 (1845).
  • ''"As for myself, I am simply Hop-Frog, the jester—and this is my last jest."... The Work of vengeance was complete.''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. author. "Hop-Frog," The Flag of Our Union (1849). Humor and violence in the aesthetic of vengeance.
  • ''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 lamp-light 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!''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. The Raven (l. 102-107). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.
  • ''Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
    Is a world of sweets and sours;
    Our flowers are merely—flowers,
    And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
    Is the sunshine of ours.''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. Israfel (l. 40-44). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.
  • ''Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1845), U.S. poet, critic, short-story writer. first published in New York Evening Mirror (Jan. 29, 1845). The Raven, st. 1, The Raven and Other Poems (1845).
  • ''In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
    "Whose heart-strings are a lute;"
    None sing so wildly well
    As the angel Israfel,
    And the giddy stars (so legends tell)
    Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
    Of his voice, all mute.''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. Israfel (l. 1-7). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.
  • ''"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
    Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. The Raven (l. 44-47). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.
  • ''a bolder note than this might swell
    From my lyre within the sky.''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. Israfel (l. 50-51). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.
  • ''The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
    Which is enduring, so be deep!
    Heaven have her in its sacred keep!''
    Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), U.S. poet. The Sleeper (l. 37-39). . . Complete Poems and Selected Essays [Edgar Allan Poe]. Richard Gray, ed. (1993) Everyman.

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Best Poem of Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In ...

Read the full of Annabel Lee

An Enigma

"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 you con it."
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.

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