E.A. Poe, "To Marie Louise" (excerpt)Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality,
Maintained "the power of words"--denied that ever
A thought arose within the human brain
Beyond the utterance of the human tongue:
And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
Two words--two foreign soft dissyllables--
Italian tones, made only to be murmured
By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew
That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,"--
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought,
Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions
Than even the seraph harper, Israfel,
(Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures,")
Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken.
The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.
With thy dear name as text, though hidden by thee,
I cannot write--I cannot speak or think--
Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling,
This standing motionless upon the golden
Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams,
Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista,
And thrilling as I see, upon the right,
Upon the left, and all the way along,
Amid empurpled vapors, far away
To where the prospect terminates--_thee only_!
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Our A.D.D. World
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
In beautiful command of prose iambic
With classic five foot lines of lyric grace
The author Poe remarkably produces
An atmosphere both somber and exotic
Languid with longing, potent with desire
For something always just beyond his reach
And so dear Edgar Allen found escape
Evoking visions dream-like in a trance
Induced by drugs or by mere concentration?
Poor Poe, his dreams of love were not fulfilled
And seemed to leave him feeling impotent
Weakened, unrewarded yet he wove
Spells of fascination for his fans
Who remember him with fondness tinged with pity
For certainly he gave more than he gained
And so we feel, perhaps, a twinge of guilt
At reaping what he sowed but never gleaned
For his tortured soul took nothing for itself
And that is why his fascination lasts
Unsolved mysteries cause unceasong wonder.
The secret to combatting ADD
Lies in taking one thing you think great
Into splendid isolation where no sounds
Or sights assault the senses with distractions
Concentrate on learning to ignore
Stray thoughts and wayward influences crude
Self-discipline becomes its own reward
Examine only one thing at a time
Pop Culture we must come to recognize
As the enemy of Reason and good work.
Learn to cherish silence so you can
Listen to your heart and see within
Monasticism may seem too austere
But retreating from the world pays dividends
It deepens your perceptions as it hones
Improvement in your character and views
And aids in helping you learn to eschew
The tawdriness that saps your strength and then
Impoverishes every part of you.
Post a Comment