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Сторінка 217 - Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE ; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.
Сторінка 220 - In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace— Radiant palace— reared its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion, It stood there; Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair.
Сторінка 204 - Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping; and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you.
Сторінка 217 - With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago. In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me.
Сторінка 204 - Lenore!' Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before 'Surely...
Сторінка 171 - When I wish to find out how wise, or how stupid, or how good, or how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts at the moment, I fashion the expression of my face as accurately as possible in accordance with the expression of his, and then wait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or heart, as if to match or correspond with the expression.
Сторінка 215 - She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies To the Lethean peace of the skies Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes.
Сторінка 206 - But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking, "Nevermore.
Сторінка 206 - But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.