large/10730/the_sleeper_1603/sleeper_poe_jdl_64kb_4
large/10730/the_sleeper_1603/sleeper_poe_jdl_64kb
English
10730
It was the dead who groaned within. IT WAS THE DEAD WHO GROANED WITHIN
ing here? Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, A wonder to these garden trees! Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress! Strange, above all, thy length of tress, And this all-solemn silentness! The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep Which is enduring, so be deep! Heaven have her in its sacred keep! This chamber changed for one more holy, This bed for one more melancholy, I pray to God that she may lie For ever with unopened eye, While the dim sheeted ghosts go by! My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, As it is lasting, so be deep; Soft may the worms about her creep! Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold-- Some vault that oft hath flung its black And winged panels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals-- Some sepulchre, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood many an idle stone-- Some tomb from out whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more, Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! EAR HAST THOU NO FEAR WHY IN WHAT ART THOU DREAMING HERE SURE THOU OUTCOME O'ER FAR OFF SEAS A STRANGE WONDER TO THESE GARDEN TREES STRANGE IS THY POWER STRANGE THY DRESS STRANGE ABOVE ALL THY LENGTH OF DRESS IN ALL THIS ALL SOLEMN SILENTNESS THE LADY SLEEPS O MAY SHE SLEEP WHICH IS ENDURING SO BE DEEP HEAVEN IN HER SACRED KEEP THE CHAMBER CHANGED FOR ONE MORE HOLY THIS BED FOR ONE MORE MELANCHOLY I PRAY TO GOD THAT SHE MAY LIE FOR EVER WITH UNOPEN EYE WHILE THE DIM SHEETED GHOST GO BY MY LOVE SHE SLEEPS OH MAY HER SLEEP AS IT IS LASTING SO IT BE DEEP SOFT MAY THE WORMS ABOUT HER CREEP FAR IN THE FOREST DIM AND OLD FOR HER MAY SOME TALL VAULT UNFOLD SOME VAULT THAT OFT HUNG FLUNG ITS BLACK AND WING PANELS FLUTTERING BACK TRIUMPHANT O'ER THE CRESTED PALLS OF HER GRAND FAMILY FUNERALS SOME SUPERCHER REMOTE ALONE AGAINST WHOSE PORTAL SHE HATH THROWN IN CHILDHOOD MANY IDLE STONE SOME TOMB FROM OUT WHOSE SOUNDING DOOR SHE NARROW SHALL FORCE AND ECHO MORE THRILLING TO THINK POOR CHILD OF SIN
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