Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Day 3 To the Moon

A Moon Poem

by Edgar Allen Poe

I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
I must not say how many- but not

many.
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that like thine own


soul soaring,
Sought a precipitate pathway up through


heaven,
There fell a silvery silken veil of light,
With quietude, and sultriness and


slumber,
Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on


tiptoe-
Fell on the upturn'd faces of these


roses
That gave out, in return for the love-


light,
Their odorous souls in an ecstatic


death-
Fell on the upturned faces of these


roses
That smiled and died in this parterre,


enchanted
by thee, and by the poetry of thy


presence.
Clad all in white, upon a violet bank
I saw thee half-reclining; while the


moon
Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses,
And on thine own, upturn'd- alas, in


sorrow!
Was it not Fate, that, on this July mid-


night-
Was it not Fate (whose name is also


Sorrow),
That bade me pause before that garden-


gate,
To breathe the incense of those slum-


bering roses?
No footstep stirred: the hated world


all slept,
Save only thee and me. I paused- I


looked-
And in an instant all things disap-


peared.
(Ah, bear in mind this garden was


enchanted!)
The pearly lustre of the moon went


out:
The mossy banks and the meandering


paths,
The happy flowers and the repining


trees,
Were seen no more: the very roses'


odours
Died in the arms of the adoring airs.
All- all expired save thee- save less


than thou:
Save only the devine light in thine


eyes.
I saw but them- they were the world


to me.
I saw but them- saw only them for


hours-
Saw only them till the moon went


down.
What wild heart-histories seemed to lie


enwritten
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a woe! yet how sublime a


hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride!
How adoring an ambition! yet how


deep-
How fathomless a capacity for love!
But now, at length, dear Dian sank


from sight,
Into the western couch of a thunder-cloud;
And thou, a ghost, amid entombing


trees
Didst glide away. only thine eyes


Remained.
They would not go- they never yet


have gone.
Lighting my lonely pathway home that


night,
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since.
They follow me- they lead me through


the years.
They are my ministers- yet I their


slave.
Their office is to illuminate and enkindle-
My duty, to be saved by their bright


light
And purified in their electric fire,
And sanctified in their elysian fire.
They fill my soul with Beauty (which


is Hope.)
And are far up in Heaven- the stars


I kneel to
In the sad, slient watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day
I see them still- two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

No comments:

Post a Comment