The Poetical Works Of Edgar Allan Poe

by Edgar Allan Poe

Overview

This is a reproduction of a book published before 1923. This book may have occasional imperfections such as missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. that were either part of the original artifact, or were introduced by the scanning process. We believe this work is culturally important, and despite the imperfections, have elected to bring it back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. We appreciate your understanding of the imperfections in the preservation process, and hope you enjoy this valuable book.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781024799866
Publisher:	Hutson Street Press
Publication date:	05/22/2025
Pages:	136
Product dimensions:	6.14(w) x 9.21(h) x 0.38(d)

About the Author

Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) was orphaned at the age of three and adopted by a wealthy Virginia family with whom he had a troubled relationship. He excelled in his studies of language and literature at school, and self-published his first book, Tamerlane and Other Poems, in 1827. In 1830, Poe embarked on a career as a writer and began contributing reviews and essays to popular periodicals. He also wrote sketches and short fiction, and in 1833 published his only completed novel, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket. Over the next five years he established himself as a master of the short story form through the publication of "The Fall of the House of Usher," "The Masque of the Red Death," "The Tell-Tale Heart," and other well–known works. In 1841, he wrote "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," generally considered the first modern detective story. The publication of The Raven and Other Poems in 1845 brought him additional fame as a poet.

Read an Excerpt

POEMS. PREFACE TO THE POEMS. These trifles are collected and republished chiefly with a view to their redemption from the many improvements to which they have been subjected while going at random " the rounds of the press." I am naturally anxious that what I have written should circulate as I wrote It, if it circulate at all. In defense of my own taste, nevertheless, it is incumbent upon me to say that I think nothing in this volume of much value to the public, or very creditable to myself. Events not to be controlled have prevented me from making, at any time, any serious effort in what, under happier circumstances, would have been the field of my choice. With me poetry has been not a purpose, but a passion; and the passions should be held in reverence; they must not—they cannot at will be excited, with an eye to the paltry compensations, or the more paltry commendations, of mankind. E. A. P. POEMS. 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 name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore. 11 161 And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilledme—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the b...