Day: Stars

                                
                    Evening Star By Edgar Allan Poe

Twas noontide of summer, And midtime of night, And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, through the light Of the brighter, cold moon. 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves.   I gazed awhile On her cold smile; Too cold—too cold for me— There passed, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turned away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light.

Stars By Robert Frost

HOW countlessly they congregate O'er our tumultuous snow, Which flows in shapes as tall as trees When wintry winds do blow!-- As if with keenness for our fate, Our faltering few steps on To white rest, and a place of rest Invisible at dawn,-- And yet with neither love nor hate, Those stars like some snow-white Minerva's snow-white marble eyes Without the gift of sight.

Stars By Dubstar

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!

Day 4 Dreams~ Poetry

Edgar Allan Poe's poem  A Dream Within a Dream was published in 1849....

Here is a video with the words of said poem....along with stop-animation and some eerie background music...

and one more from Poe...Dream-Land, written in 1844, the only published work from Poe that year. This one read by Henry Halloway