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General Discussions Discuss This is nothing but dreaming... in the Community Center forums; In honor of today being Edgar Allan Poe's 197th Birthday I wanted to start a thread to display some of his magnificent work. Feel free to post your favorite poems, ...
  1. #1
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    PumpkinJack81 is offline Some say to survive it you need to be as a mad as a hatter...
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    This is nothing but dreaming...

    In honor of today being Edgar Allan Poe's 197th Birthday I wanted to start a thread to display some of his magnificent work.

    Feel free to post your favorite poems, quotes, or anything else Poe!
    ~Bobby Jack

    When you hear the knell of a requiem bell weird glows gleam where spirits dwell
    Restless bones etherealize rise as spooks of every size
    Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!





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    Ulalume (1847)

    The skies they were ashen and sober;
    The leaves they were crisped and sere-
    The leaves they were withering and sere;
    It was night in the lonesome October
    Of my most immemorial year;
    It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
    In the misty mid region of Weir-
    It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
    In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

    Here once, through an alley Titanic,
    Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul-
    Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
    There were days when my heart was volcanic
    As the scoriac rivers that roll-
    As the lavas that restlessly roll
    Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
    In the ultimate climes of the pole-
    That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
    In the realms of the boreal pole.

    Our talk had been serious and sober,
    But our thoughts they were palsied and sere-
    Our memories were treacherous and sere-
    For we knew not the month was October,
    And we marked not the night of the year-
    (Ah, night of all nights in the year!)
    We noted not the dim lake of Auber-
    (Though once we had journeyed down here),
    Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
    Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

    And now, as the night was senescent,
    And star-dials pointed to morn-
    As the star-dials hinted of morn-
    At the end of our path a liquescent
    And nebulous lustre was born,
    Out of which a miraculous crescent
    Arose with a duplicate horn-
    Astarte's bediamonded crescent
    Distinct with its duplicate horn.

    And I said- "She is warmer than Dian:
    She rolls through an ether of sighs-
    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."

    But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
    Said- "Sadly this star I mistrust-
    Her pallor I strangely mistrust:-
    Oh, hasten!- oh, let us not linger!
    Oh, fly!- let us fly!- for we must."
    In terror she spoke, letting sink her
    Wings until they trailed in the dust-
    In agony sobbed, letting sink her
    Plumes till they trailed in the dust-
    Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

    I replied- "This is nothing but dreaming:
    Let us on by this tremulous light!
    Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
    Its Sybilic splendor is beaming
    With Hope and in Beauty to-night:-
    See!- it flickers up the sky through the night!
    Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
    And be sure it will lead us aright-
    We safely may trust to a gleaming
    That cannot but guide us aright,
    Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."

    Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
    And tempted her out of her gloom-
    And conquered her scruples and gloom;
    And we passed to the end of the vista,
    But were stopped by the door of a tomb-
    By the door of a legended tomb;
    And I said- "What is written, sweet sister,
    On the door of this legended tomb?"
    She replied- "Ulalume- Ulalume-
    'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
    As the leaves that were crisped and sere-
    As the leaves that were withering and sere-
    And I cried- "It was surely October
    On this very night of last year
    That I journeyed- I journeyed down here-
    That I brought a dread burden down here-
    On this night of all nights in the year,
    Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
    Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber-
    This misty mid region of Weir- :
    Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
    This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."
    ~Bobby Jack

    When you hear the knell of a requiem bell weird glows gleam where spirits dwell
    Restless bones etherealize rise as spooks of every size
    Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!





  3. #3
    butlers's Avatar
    butlers is offline Lost in Tenderness!!!!!!
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    oh so lovely!!!!!!!!!!!


    I'll post something in a bit.
    April 23rd, oh yeah it's gonna be ON!

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    My absolute favorite by him is The Raven

    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 books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
    This it is, and nothing more,'

    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' - here I opened wide the door; -
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
    But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `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,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
    Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
    'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
    `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
    Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as `Nevermore.'

    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 will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
    Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
    Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of "Never-nevermore."'

    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, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
    Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
    Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
    On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
    Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
    `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted - nevermore!




  5. #5
    butlers's Avatar
    butlers is offline Lost in Tenderness!!!!!!
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    ohhhhh, i love the Raven.....
    April 23rd, oh yeah it's gonna be ON!

  6. #6
    DissyLove's Avatar
    DissyLove is offline Wendy's real. I've seen her, so don't even start with me.
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    Alone

    This is my absolute favorite Poe piece. It gets me every time. Hits home for me. Thanks to anyone who takes a moment to read it-great thread PJ!:
    ALONE




    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (1830)



    From childhood's hour I have not been
    As others were; I have not seen
    As others saw; I could not bring
    My passions from a common spring.
    From the same source I have not taken
    My sorrow; I could not awaken
    My heart to joy at the same tone;
    And all I loved, I loved alone.
    Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
    Of a most stormy life- was drawn
    From every depth of good and ill
    The mystery which binds me still:
    From the torrent, or the fountain,
    From the red cliff of the mountain,
    From the sun that round me rolled
    In its autumn tint of gold,
    From the lightning in the sky
    As it passed me flying by,
    From the thunder and the storm,
    And the cloud that took the form
    (When the rest of Heaven was blue)
    Of a demon in my view.



    -- THE END --
    I am in need of some Disney magic!!

  7. #7
    PumpkinJack81's Avatar
    PumpkinJack81 is offline Some say to survive it you need to be as a mad as a hatter...
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    Quote Originally Posted by disneydreamer98
    My absolute favorite by him is The Raven
    Good one Melissa. The first Poe poem I ever heard or read completely. It will always be a favorite of mine, even more so because of the classic Roger Corman/Vincent Price film, The Raven.
    ~Bobby Jack

    When you hear the knell of a requiem bell weird glows gleam where spirits dwell
    Restless bones etherealize rise as spooks of every size
    Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!





  8. #8
    PumpkinJack81's Avatar
    PumpkinJack81 is offline Some say to survive it you need to be as a mad as a hatter...
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    Quote Originally Posted by DissyLove
    This is my absolute favorite Poe piece. It gets me every time. Hits home for me. Thanks to anyone who takes a moment to read it-great thread PJ!
    Good one Nicole! I took the time to read it and like it a lot! I'm glad there are others out there who can appreciate a good Poe poem.
    ~Bobby Jack

    When you hear the knell of a requiem bell weird glows gleam where spirits dwell
    Restless bones etherealize rise as spooks of every size
    Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!





  9. #9
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    PumpkinJack81 is offline Some say to survive it you need to be as a mad as a hatter...
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    Another Poe favorite

    A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM
    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (1827)
    Take this kiss upon the brow!
    And, in parting from you now,
    Thus much let me avow-
    You are not wrong, who deem
    That my days have been a dream;
    Yet if hope has flown away
    In a night, or in a day,
    In a vision, or in none,
    Is it therefore the less gone?
    All that we see or seem
    Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar
    Of a surf-tormented shore,
    And I hold within my hand
    Grains of the golden sand-
    How few! yet how they creep
    Through my fingers to the deep,
    While I weep- while I weep!
    O God! can I not grasp
    Them with a tighter clasp?
    O God! can I not save
    One from the pitiless wave?
    Is all that we see or seem
    But a dream within a dream?
    THE END
    ~Bobby Jack

    When you hear the knell of a requiem bell weird glows gleam where spirits dwell
    Restless bones etherealize rise as spooks of every size
    Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!





  10. #10
    4Mickey's Avatar
    4Mickey is offline "But why is the Rum gone?"
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    Great thread! I'm really enjoying these! My very favorite work is the Tell-Tale Heart, but it's a short story, so it probably wouldn't fit in here.

    Keep em' coming
    "What ARRRRGH you doing?"

    "What are you doing?"
    "No, What ARRRRGH you doing?"
    Cap'n Jack lives again!
    "I'll try anything once or twice, that's the kind of mouse I am"

  11. #11
    DissyLove's Avatar
    DissyLove is offline Wendy's real. I've seen her, so don't even start with me.
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    you asked for more, here you go!

    for summer, since you asked for more. BTW, my fav is "The Cask of Amontillado" but here is another poem:
    THE HAPPIEST DAY, THE HAPPIEST HOUR




    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (1827)




    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.

    Of power! said I? yes! such I ween;
    But they have vanish'd long, alas!
    The visions of my youth have been-
    But let them pass.

    And, pride, what have I now with thee?
    Another brow may even inherit
    The venom thou hast pour'd on me
    Be still, my spirit!

    The happiest day- the happiest hour
    Mine eyes shall see- have ever seen,
    The brightest glance of pride and power,
    I feel- have been:

    But were that hope of pride and power
    Now offer'd with the pain
    Even then I felt- that brightest hour
    I would not live again: For on its wing was dark alloy,
    And, as it flutter'd- fell
    An essence- powerful to destroy
    A soul that knew it well.

    -- THE END --
    I am in need of some Disney magic!!

  12. #12
    DissyLove's Avatar
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    my favorite story!

    Here is my fav EA Poe story, in two parts because it is so long, but it really is a good one!
    THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO




    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (1846)



    THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
    It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my in to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my to smile now was at the thought of his immolation.
    He had a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; --I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.
    It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.
    I said to him --"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."
    "How?" said he. "Amontillado, A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!"
    "I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."
    "Amontillado!"
    "I have my doubts."
    "Amontillado!"
    "And I must satisfy them."
    "Amontillado!"
    "As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me --"
    "Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."
    "And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own.
    "Come, let us go."
    "Whither?"
    "To your vaults."
    "My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi--"
    "I have no engagement; --come."
    "My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre."
    "Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado."
    Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.
    There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.
    I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.
    The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode.
    "The pipe," he said.
    "It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls."
    He turned towards me, and looked into my eves with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.
    "Nitre?" he asked, at length.
    "Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough?"
    "Ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh!"
    My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.
    "It is nothing," he said, at last.
    "Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi --"
    "Enough," he said; "the cough's a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough."
    "True --true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily --but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps.
    Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.
    "Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.
    He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.
    "I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us."
    "And I to your long life."
    He again took my arm, and we proceeded.
    "These vaults," he said, "are extensive."
    "The Montresors," I replied, "were a great and numerous family."
    "I forget your arms."
    "A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel."
    "And the motto?"
    "Nemo me impune lacessit."
    "Good!" he said.
    The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.
    "The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough --"
    "It is nothing," he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc."
    I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.
    I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement --a grotesque one.
    "You do not comprehend?" he said.
    "Not I," I replied.
    "Then you are not of the brotherhood."
    "How?"
    "You are not of the masons."
    "Yes, yes," I said; "yes, yes."
    "You? Impossible! A mason?"
    "A mason," I replied.
    "A sign," he said, "a sign."
    (Continued below....)
    I am in need of some Disney magic!!

  13. #13
    DissyLove's Avatar
    DissyLove is offline Wendy's real. I've seen her, so don't even start with me.
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    continued story...

    "It is this," I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel.
    "You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado."
    "Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.
    At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.
    It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.
    "Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi --"
    "He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In niche, and finding an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess.
    "Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power."
    "The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.
    "True," I replied; "the Amontillado."
    As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.
    I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.
    A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.
    It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said--
    "Ha! ha! ha! --he! he! he! --a very good joke, indeed --an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo --he! he! he! --over our wine --he! he! he!"
    "The Amontillado!" I said.
    "He! he! he! --he! he! he! --yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone."
    "Yes," I said, "let us be gone."
    "For the love of God, Montresor!"
    "Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"
    But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud --
    "Fortunato!"
    No answer. I called again --
    "Fortunato!"
    No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick; it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!



    -- THE END --
    I am in need of some Disney magic!!

  14. #14
    PumpkinJack81's Avatar
    PumpkinJack81 is offline Some say to survive it you need to be as a mad as a hatter...
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    Great one Nicole! Here's another poem I love...

    THE CONQUEROR WORM

    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (1843)




    Lo! 'tis a gala night
    Within the lonesome latter years!
    An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
    In veils, and drowned in tears,
    Sit in a theatre, to see
    A play of hopes and fears,
    While the orchestra breathes fitfully
    The music of the spheres.

    Mimes, in the form of God on high,
    Mutter and mumble low,
    And hither and thither fly-
    Mere puppets they, who come and go
    At bidding of vast formless things
    That shift the scenery to and fro,
    Flapping from out their Condor wings
    Invisible Woe!

    That motley drama- oh, be sure
    It shall not be forgot!
    With its Phantom chased for evermore,
    By a crowd that seize it not,
    Through a circle that ever returneth in
    To the self-same spot,
    And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
    And Horror the soul of the plot.

    But see, amid the mimic rout
    A crawling shape intrude!
    A blood-red thing that writhes from out
    The scenic solitude!
    It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
    The mimes become its food,
    And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
    In human gore imbued. Out- out are the lights- out all!
    And, over each quivering form,
    The curtain, a funeral pall,
    Comes down with the rush of a storm,
    While the angels, all pallid and wan,
    Uprising, unveiling, affirm
    That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
    And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

    THE END
    ~Bobby Jack

    When you hear the knell of a requiem bell weird glows gleam where spirits dwell
    Restless bones etherealize rise as spooks of every size
    Grim grinning ghosts come out to socialize!





  15. #15
    Join Date
    Jan 2005
    Posts
    46,886
    We had to read Bells in Ninth grade English class and I can still hear my teacher and her exuberant reading of this!

    I
    Hear the sledges with the bells-
    Silver bells!
    What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
    How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
    In the icy air of night!
    While the stars that oversprinkle
    All the heavens, seem to twinkle
    With a crystalline delight;
    Keeping time, time, time,
    In a sort of Runic rhyme,
    To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
    From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
    Bells, bells, bells-
    From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

    II

    Hear the mellow wedding bells,
    Golden bells!
    What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
    Through the balmy air of night
    How they ring out their delight!
    From the molten-golden notes,
    And an in tune,
    What a liquid ditty floats
    To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
    On the moon!
    Oh, from out the sounding cells,
    What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
    How it swells!
    How it dwells
    On the Future! how it tells
    Of the rapture that impels
    To the swinging and the ringing
    Of the bells, bells, bells,
    Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
    Bells, bells, bells-
    To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

    III

    Hear the loud alarum bells-
    Brazen bells!
    What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
    In the startled ear of night
    How they scream out their affright!
    Too much horrified to speak,
    They can only shriek, shriek,
    Out of tune,
    In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
    In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
    Leaping higher, higher, higher,
    With a desperate desire,
    And a resolute endeavor,
    Now- now to sit or never,
    By the side of the pale-faced moon.
    Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
    What a tale their terror tells
    Of Despair!
    How they clang, and clash, and roar!
    What a horror they outpour
    On the bosom of the palpitating air!
    Yet the ear it fully knows,
    By the twanging,
    And the clanging,
    How the danger ebbs and flows:
    Yet the ear distinctly tells,
    In the jangling,
    And the wrangling,
    How the danger sinks and swells,
    By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
    Of the bells-
    Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
    Bells, bells, bells-
    In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

    IV

    Hear the tolling of the bells-
    Iron Bells!
    What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
    In the silence of the night,
    How we shiver with affright
    At the melancholy menace of their tone!
    For every sound that floats
    From the rust within their throats
    Is a groan.
    And the people- ah, the people-
    They that dwell up in the steeple,
    All Alone
    And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
    In that muffled monotone,
    Feel a glory in so rolling
    On the human heart a stone-
    They are neither man nor woman-
    They are neither brute nor human-
    They are Ghouls:
    And their king it is who tolls;
    And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
    Rolls
    A paean from the bells!
    And his merry bosom swells
    With the paean of the bells!
    And he dances, and he yells;
    Keeping time, time, time,
    In a sort of Runic rhyme,
    To the paean of the bells-
    Of the bells:
    Keeping time, time, time,
    In a sort of Runic rhyme,
    To the throbbing of the bells-
    Of the bells, bells, bells-
    To the sobbing of the bells;
    Keeping time, time, time,
    As he knells, knells, knells,
    In a happy Runic rhyme,
    To the rolling of the bells-
    Of the bells, bells, bells:
    To the tolling of the bells,
    Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
    Bells, bells, bells-
    To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

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