A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
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All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear,
All intellect, all sense, and as they please
read more
All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear,
All intellect, all sense, and as they please
They limb themselves, and colour, shape, or size,
Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
read more
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
For spirits when they please
Can either sex assume, or both.
For spirits when they please
Can either sex assume, or both.
What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she.
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she.
Where entity and quiddity,
The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly.
Where entity and quiddity,
The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly.
Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth read more
Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the churchway paths to glide.
