Edgar Allan Poe

The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

Filled with mingled cream and amber I will drain that glass again. Such hilarious visions clamber Through the chambers of read more

Filled with mingled cream and amber I will drain that glass again. Such hilarious visions clamber Through the chambers of my brain -- Quaintest thoughts -- queerest fancies Come to life and fade away; Who cares how time advances? I am drinking ale today.

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.

Hear the sledges with the bells,
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
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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 tingling of the bells.

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.