Emotions and Feelings

I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together.

“You’re wounded!” “Nay,” the soldier’s pride Touched to the quick, he said: “I’m killed, Sire!” And his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead.

I have come too late into a world too old. 1

The most despairing songs are the loveliest of all, I know immortal ones composed only of tears.

Come, ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of harvest-home; All is safely gathered in, Ere the winter storms begin.

“Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,” The shade replied— “If you seek for Eldorado!”

“Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,” The shade replied— “If you seek for Eldorado!”

The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispèd and sere— The leaves they were withering and sere: It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year.

“Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of Space—out of Time.

And much of Madness, and more of Sin, And Horror the soul of the plot.

And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy gray eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams— In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.

And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy gray eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams— In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.

Thou wast that all to me, love, For which my soul did pine— A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine.

Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?

All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.

The happiest day—the happiest hour My sear’d and blighted heart hath known, The highest hope of pride and power, I feel hath flown.

Dear Lord and Father of mankind, Forgive our foolish ways! Reclothe us in our rightful mind, In purer lives Thy service find, In deeper reverence, praise.

I am the somber one, the unconsoled widower, The Prince of Aquitaine whose tower was destroyed. 2 My only star is dead, and my star-studded lute Wears the black sun of Melancholy.

“Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!” he said.

The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.

“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country’s flag,” she said.