• Two worlds there are. To one our eyes we strain,
    Whose magic joys we shall not see again;
        Bright haze of morning veils its glimmering shore.
            Ah, truly breathed we there
            Intoxicating air—
        Glad were our hearts in that sweet realm of
              Nevermore.

    The lover there drank her delicious breath
    Whose love...

  • It makes no difference abroad,

    The seasons fit the same,

    The mornings blossom into noons,

    And split their pods of flame.


    Wild-flowers kindle in the woods,

    The brooks brag all the day ;

    No blackbird bates his jargoning...