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'Ello!
Mar 22, 2009 11:20:55 GMT -5
Post by Renegade on Mar 22, 2009 11:20:55 GMT -5
Sooo...my name is Megan, I came up with the site I own 2 pet rats, 6 cats, 5 snakes, an 11 year old betta fish and a Leopard Gecko. I want a Great Dane when I move. Which will hopefully be to Germany with the love of my life ;p I favor my digital photography, my favorite author is Edgar Allen Poe and I'm addicted to Monster xD
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'Ello!
Mar 30, 2009 21:02:24 GMT -5
Post by Jarhead on Mar 30, 2009 21:02:24 GMT -5
I LOVE Poe!
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'Ello!
Mar 30, 2009 22:16:32 GMT -5
Post by Renegade on Mar 30, 2009 22:16:32 GMT -5
Israfel is such a beautiful poem <3 My sister laughs, because I thought of my girlfriend the first time I read it with it referring to the angel's beautiful voice and all xD Yeah, I'm a sap. Israfel by: Edgar Allen Poe In Heaven a spirit doth dwell "Whose heart-strings are a lute"; None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, And the giddy stars (so legends tell), Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell Of his voice, all mute.
Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamored moon Blushes with love, While, to listen, the red levin (With the rapid Pleiads, even, Which were seven,) Pauses in Heaven.
And they say (the starry choir And the other listening things) That Israfel's fire Is owing to that lyre By which he sits and sings- The trembling living wire Of those unusual strings.
But the skies that angel trod, Where deep thoughts are a duty- Where Love's a grown-up God- Where the Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in a star.
Therefore thou art not wrong, Israfel, who despisest An unimpassioned song; To thee the laurels belong, Best bard, because the wisest! Merrily live, and long!
The ecstasies above With thy burning measures suit- Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervor of thy lute- Well may the stars be mute!
Yes, Heaven is thine; but this Is a world of sweets and sours; Our flowers are merely- flowers, And the shadow of thy perfect bliss Is the sunshine of ours.
If I could dwell Where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody, While a bolder note than this might swell From my lyre within the sky.
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