Edgar Allan Poe Club
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This Edgar Allan Poe تصویر might contain سٹریٹ, شہر منظر, شہری ماحول, گلی, شہر ديکھا, شہری سیٹنگ, کاروبار ضلع, شہر کے مرکز میں, کاروباری ضلع, شہر, chalet, and پہاڑی بنگلے.

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posted by elizasmomma
as آپ read Mr.Edgar Allen Poe's poetry that he wrote, آپ feel this vain young-man searching for away to break free from the tradgies that he faced as a child and in his early teens, and later on in life, but the poem that i just read called: Dreams" really sums up i think what he
was truly feeling there is a تبصرہ below the poem that i read that i think is very well put and this
is what it says: " The life of human beings, relates to something called dreams that considered as a prediction. We build our life upon it. we should have dreams with which our life become so sweet and nice
    And...
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posted by Milah
So sweet the hour, so calm the time,
I feel it مزید than half a crime,
When Nature sleeps and stars are mute,
To mar the silence ev'n with lute.
At rest on ocean's brilliant dyes
An image of Elysium lies:
Seven Pleiades entranced in Heaven,
Form in the deep another seven:
Endymion nodding from above
Sees in the sea a سیکنڈ love.
Within the valleys dim and brown,
And on the spectral mountain's crown,
The wearied light is dying down,
And earth, and stars, and sea, and sky
Are redolent of sleep, as I
Am redolent of thee and thine
Enthralling love, my Adeline.
But list, O list,- so soft and low
Thy lover's voice tonight shall flow,
That, scarce awake, thy soul shall deem
My words the موسیقی of a dream.
Thus, while no single sound too rude
Upon thy slumber shall intrude,
Our thoughts, our souls- O God above!
In every deed shall mingle, love.
posted by elizasmomma
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my کتابیں surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden...
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