Edgar Allan Poe Quotes on Death
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Come! let the burial rite be read - the funeral song be sung! - An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young - A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.
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And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
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While the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, 'Man', And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
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The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
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The death then of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world, and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.
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As for myself, I am simply Hop-Frog, the jester - and this is my last jest.
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Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest.
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So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down.
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And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence.
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For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not - and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul.
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A strong argument for the religion of Christ is this - that offences against Charity are about the only ones which men on their death-beds can be made, not to understand, but to feel, as crime.
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Sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore - Nameless here for evermore.
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'Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
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Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul - Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
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In her sepulcher there by the sea - In her tomb by the sounding sea.