Ann S. Stephens. DROPPING LEAVES. THE THE leaves are dropping, dropping, Now whirling, floating, stopping, And my heart goes down with them! Yes, I see them floating round me Mid the beating of the rain, Like the hopes that still have bound me They are floating through the stillness. But the proud tree stands up prouder, A heart that's long in breaking, Then I thought-" That tree is human For while the leaves were wealthy "Then is great roots gathered fragrance, "But the very dews of summer Came with the mellow autumn, And touched those leaves with blight; Then the frost came stealing earthward, Like a ghost upon the night. "When the frost had done its death-work, When the golden leaves were sear, And the brown crept dimly on them In the old age of the year,— Ah! the roots withdrew their nurture, While the tree stood firm and high; When the leaves had lost their groenness, Le, it cast them off to die!" Then I thought, "Those leaves were weary, And thrilled with human pain, As they fell so cold and dreary Beneath the beating rain. While the boughs waved slow and grimly And snook them all away-- Then my soul went sadly after, As my hopes had taken flight. Edgar Allan Poe. THE RAVEN. ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten loreWhile 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. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain -filled me with fantastic terrors never felt Thrilled me before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door; Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "LENORE!" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "LENORE!". Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, ail my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is-and this mysterv explore, heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore'Tis the wind, and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber dour Perched upon a bust of PALLAS, just above my chamber door Perched, and sat, and nothing more. |