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.
Weitere Zitate von Edgar Allan Poe
Zum Autor"In beauty of face no maiden ever equaled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream - an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the fantasies which hovered about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos."
"Invisible things are the only realities."
"Horrors of a nature most stern and most appalling would too frequently obtrude themselves upon my mind, and shake the innermost depths of my soul with the bare supposition of their possibility."
"Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made."
"Lord help my poor soul."
"The grandeur that was Rome."