Edgar Allan Poe Club
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posted by bRiNnAyCuLlEn
As the trio of officers tore at the planks, they soon became acutely aware that مزید than just three lone people were working to get the body out- there was a fourth force, and this force was coming from the undersurface of the floor, where only the supposed corpse lay.
When they should have been seeing simply a hodge podge of gruesome pieces of an elderly man, they instead saw something far worse. They saw the stuff of nightmares as a zombie of sorts comprised of the shredded pieces jumped out at the men and quickly snapped their necks and threw them to the side- for they weren't his intended...
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posted by Vixie79
FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not - and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified - have tortured - have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little...
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posted by Milah
Edgar Allan Poe is and will remain my پسندیدہ poet of all time. He changed the world with his works. He didn't gain his fame until after his death. It took people in the 1900's and late 1800's to recognize his true genius. Edgar Allan Poe was definitely the best at what he did.Till this day, there is no one who can be compared to Edgar Allan Poe. Some people aspire to write like Edgar Allan Poe, and I'm one of them. We try to grasp his concepts, but cannot. We try to write about horror and love, but we just can't do it. No one can master and grasp his influences of horror, gloom, mystery,...
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posted by chheyden
Some still believe that reincarnation is a hoax. Even though this phenomenon is not foreign to many it still holds some terror and definitely mystery for those who flee from the idea. But, even in Poe's work he refuses to believe that when one is dead he یا she is dead eternally. Being a huge پرستار of E.A. Poe since age 9, I decided to write an authoritative work on the subject and base it entirely on known evidence, that is, evidence that can be verified. I welcome any پرستار of Poe to read the 159 page non-fiction work and answer with their sentiments یا critique.

One of the superb stories of Poe that relates to reincarnation (aka 'Transmigration') is 'A Tale of The Ragged Mountains.

Let's see if I have done Mr. Poe honor.
posted by elizasmomma
when i first read mr.edgar allan poe's work and the stories that he wrote there was a sense of darkness and fear inside the horror stories on which he wrote,

and with his own personality on which he wrote them the reader could see and even feel a sense of remorse as he wrote with such anger and passion as what is protrayed inside the writings on which he suffered a great deal at in his private life.


there was a darkness that no-one could understand until آپ read his work then آپ could come to terms on why he wrote and felt the way that he did,

reading his work for me is away to feel close to the man behind the horror stories and to read his background is so hard for me to come to terms with
on my own as being a new پرستار of his work.
posted by trustful
Have آپ ever read a short story, a tall یا a novel written سے طرف کی these authors? Have آپ ever watched a movie based on their writings یا evoking one of their characters?
Guy de Maupassant and Edgar Allan Poe have always
fascinated the literary and film world سے طرف کی their
extraordinary style of narrator and storyteller, their admirable ability of literary creation.

"Fear through the stories" is a new book which assembles some of the excellent short stories یا talls of two great authors (Edgar A. Poe and Maupassant) in which are found similarities in the stories and literary style.
Read and get it سے طرف کی this link:
link
posted by Vixie79
THE "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, یا so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its مہر -- the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.

But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and...
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posted by Seastar4374
TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL آپ say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell آپ the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me دن and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He...
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posted by Vixie79
I NEVER knew anyone so keenly alive to a joke as the king was. He seemed to live only for joking. To tell a good story of the joke kind, and to tell it well, was the surest road to his favor. Thus it happened that his seven ministers were all noted for their accomplishments as jokers. They all took after the king, too, in being large, corpulent, oily men, as well as inimitable jokers. Whether people grow fat سے طرف کی joking, یا whether there is something in fat itself which predisposes to a joke, I have never been quite able to determine; but certain it is that a lean joker is a rara avis in terris....
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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 sawfan13
The stories they have کہا were true
There was once a young girl like me and you
That loved to read Edgar Allen Poe
How her دل felt reading his tales of woe

She lived in the 1800's
Rebellious, young and dark
She wanted to be a young Joan of Arc
As she ran away to see Poe

Virginia to Boston, a long long rode
As her parents were waiting for her at her humble abode
Then, she felt disbelief when she heard
The madness of Edgar Allen Poe

People disapproved of him
Trying to ruin her long strange trip
But she still goes on saying
She longs to hear his tales of murder, love and woe

One دن she stumbled to a home...
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posted by Milah
In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
سے طرف کی which he sits and sings-
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel...
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posted by Vixie79
OF my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill usage and length of years have driven me from the one, and estranged me from the other. Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of no common order, and a contemplative turn of mind enabled me to methodize the stores which early study very diligently garnered up. -- Beyond all things, the study of the German moralists gave me great delight; not from any ill-advised admiration of their eloquent madness, but from the ease with which my habits of rigid thought enabled me to detect their falsities. I have often been reproached with the...
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posted by Milah
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the گھنٹی, بیل toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now یا nevermore!
See! on yon drear and rigid جنازہ low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read- the funeral song be sung!-
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young-
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her- that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read?- the requiem...
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posted by Milah
PART I

O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy-
O! nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in woodland rill-
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy's voice so peacefully departed
That like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell-
Oh, nothing of the dross of ours-
Yet all the beauty- all the flowers
That فہرست our Love, and deck our bowers-
Adorn yon world afar, afar-
The wandering star.

'Twas a sweet time for Nesace- for there
Her world lay lolling on the golden air,
Near four bright suns-...
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posted by Milah
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,

"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.

Through all the flimsy things we see at once

As easily as through a Naples bonnet-

Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it?

Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff-

Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff

Twirls into trunk-paper the while آپ con it."

And, veritably, Sol is right enough.

The general tuckermanities are arrant

Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent-

But this is, now- آپ may depend upon it-

Stable, opaque, immortal- all سے طرف کی dint

Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.
posted by Milah
Thou wast all that 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.

Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
'On! on!'- but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! me
For me the light of Life is over!
'No more- no more- no more-'
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree
یا the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams-
In what ethereal dances,
سے طرف کی what eternal streams.
posted by Milah
'Tis کہا that when
The hands of men
Tamed this primeval wood,
And hoary trees with groans of woe,
Like warriors سے طرف کی an unknown foe,
Were in their strength subdued,
The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
To springs that ne'er did flow
That in the sun Did rivulets run,
And all around rare flowers did blow
The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
And the queenly lily adown the dale
(Whom the sun and the dew
And the winds did woo),
With the gourd and the انگور luxuriant grew.

So when in tears
The love of years
Is wasted like the snow,
And the fine fibrils of its life
سے طرف کی the rude wrong of instant strife
Are broken at a blow
Within the heart
Do springs upstart
Of which it doth now know,
And strange, sweet dreams,
Like silent streams
That from new fountains overflow,
With the earlier tide
Of rivers glide
Deep in the دل whose hope has died--
Quenching the fires its ashes hide,--
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
Sweet flowers, ere long,
The rare and radiant flowers of song!
posted by Milah
Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes -
Upon the sinner's sacrifice,
Of fervent prayer and humble love,
From thy holy تخت above.
At morn - at noon - at twilight dim -
Maria! thou hast heard my hymn!
In joy and wo - in good and ill -
Mother of God, be with me still!

When the Hours flew brightly by,
And not a بادل obscured the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee;

Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast
Darkly my Present and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine!
*To me the poem represents the transitory, ephemeral nature of time and our existence. When we meet a lover it's is like we pick up a handful of sand and as the years go سے طرف کی the sand slowly creeps through our fingers. No matter how hard یا how desperately آپ try, آپ cannot stop the cascading sand, until آپ and your lover تقسیم, الگ کریں and the last grain of sand has fallen. Then all آپ have left is a memory. And when آپ and your ex-lover pass on that memory is lost in time: like a dream within a dream. The سیکنڈ half seems to be about our own mortality and the nature of our existence. Once the...
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