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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven Edition / Table Of Contents And Index Of The Five Volumes cover

The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven Edition / Table Of Contents And Index Of The Five Volumes

Chapter 150: THE HAUNTED PALACE.
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About This Book

A five-volume collection gathers short fiction, long narratives, essays, critical writings, and poems arranged with a preface, biographical sketch, notes and an index. It presents gothic and macabre tales that probe madness, doom, and uncanny atmosphere alongside foundational detective and ratiocination stories, adventurous hoaxes, and a sea narrative. The poetry moves between melancholic lyric pieces and highly musical, metrical experiments. Critical essays and reviews offer reflections on aesthetics, literary principles, and practical criticism. Taken together, the volumes map recurring concerns—imagination and terror, analytical deduction, and an ongoing preoccupation with beauty, loss, and musicality in language.

THE HAUNTED PALACE.

     In the greenest of our valleys
         By good angels tenanted,
     Once a fair and stately palace—
         Radiant palace—reared its head.
     In the monarch Thought’s dominion—
         It stood there!
     Never seraph spread a pinion
         Over fabric half so fair.

     Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
         On its roof did float and flow,
     (This—all this—was in the olden
         Time long ago,)
     And every gentle air that dallied,
         In that sweet day,
     Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
         A winged odour went away.

     Wanderers in that happy valley,
         Through two luminous windows, saw
     Spirits moving musically,
         To a lute’s well-tuned law,
     Round about a throne where, sitting
         (Porphyrogene)
     In state his glory well befitting,
         The ruler of the realm was seen.

     And all with pearl and ruby glowing
         Was the fair palace door,
     Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
         And sparkling evermore,
     A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
         Was but to sing,
     In voices of surpassing beauty,
         The wit and wisdom of their king.

     But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
         Assailed the monarch’s high estate.
     (Ah, let us mourn!—for never sorrow
         Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
     And round about his home the glory
         That blushed and bloomed,
     Is but a dim-remembered story
         Of the old time entombed.

     And travellers, now, within that valley,
         Through the red-litten windows see
     Vast forms, that move fantastically
         To a discordant melody,
     While, lie a ghastly rapid river,
         Through the pale door
     A hideous throng rush out forever
         And laugh—but smile no more.

1838.