Stéphane Mallarmé

(1842-1898 / France)

The Tomb Of Edgar Allan Poe - Poem by Stéphane Mallarmé

Such as at last eternity transforms into Himself,
The Poet rouses with two-edged naked sword,
His century terrified at having ignored
Death triumphant in so strange a voice!

They, like a spasm of the Hydra, hearing the angel
Once grant a purer sense to the words of the tribe,
Loudly proclaimed it a magic potion, imbibed
From some tidal brew black, and dishonourable.

From soil, and hostile cloud, O grief,
If our imagination can’t carve a bas-relief
With which to deck Poe’s dazzling sepulchre,

Calm block fallen here from some dark disaster,
Let your granite at least mark a boundary forever
To dark flights of Blasphemy scattered in the future.

Comments about The Tomb Of Edgar Allan Poe by Stéphane Mallarmé

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Friday, April 2, 2010

[Report Error]