Send some poetry to a friend - the love thought that counts!
 
Poems for the People   -  Poems by the People

The Haunted Palace
by Edgar Allan Poe

US poet, critic and short story writer. Poe is best known for his macabre horror stories including The Fall of the House of Usher, The Gold Bug and The Black Cat (1842). His key poems include Lenore (1831), The Raven (1842), Ulalume (1847). He also wrote some critical essays including The Philosophy of Composition (1846), Time and Space (1844) and The Poetic Principle (1850), and a novel The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym (1838). Poe had a great influence on a number of writers including Arthur Conan Doyle and Jules Verne.


The Haunted Palace
by Edgar Allan Poe

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.

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
    On its roof did float and flow,
(This -- all this -- was in the olden
    Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
    In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
    A winged odour went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
    Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
    To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
    (Porphyrogene)
In state his glory well befitting,
    The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
    Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
    And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
    Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
    The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
    Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn! -- for never sorrow
    Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
    That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
    Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
    Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
    To a discordant melody,
While, lie a ghastly rapid river,
    Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
    And laugh -- but smile no more.


pipHome | Top | All Poems | About | FAQ | Your Privacy | Contact Us

All poetry is copyright by the individual authors.
All other material on this web site, unless otherwise noted, is
Copyright 1998-2021 by Ron Carnell and Passions in Poetry.
- netpoets 2.7.4 -