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absolutely infinite altogether Amontillado appeared beauty became beetle beneath breath Cask of Amontillado censer chamber character colour countenance course dark death door doubt dreams Dupin Edgar Poe Edited effect Eleonora Ernest Rhys essays excitement eyes fact fancy feel feet fell felt genius grew hand Haunted Palace heart horror hour human idea imagination impression intellect Joseph Skipsey Jupiter Legrand length less letter Ligeia light limb looked massa means mind nature never Nevermore night observed once parchment passion peculiar perceive perhaps Poe's poem poet poetical poetry Prefect prose purloined letter regard replied scarabaus scarcely scene seemed seen sense sentiment shadow singular skull soul sound speak spirit stood Sullivan's Island tale terror things thought tone tree true truth tulip-tree Usher valley voice wall Walter Scott whole wild William Sharp William Wilson words
Page 256 - Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family— Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother?
Page 269 - thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.
Page 248 - Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
Page 252 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain ; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — Her health ! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.
Page xix - A skilful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, he has not fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his incidents ; but having conceived, with deliberate care, a certain unique or single effect to be wrought out, he then invents such incidents — he then combines such events as may best aid him in establishing this preconceived effect.
Page 256 - Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly, Not of the stains of her; All that remains of her Now is pure womanly.
Page 29 - Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly; Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their condor wings Invisible woe!
Page xix - In the whole composition there should be no word written of which the tendency, direct or indirect, is not to the one preestablished design.
Page 29 - And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.
Page 2 - There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart, an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it — I paused to think — what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher?