First Lines of Edgar Allan Poe
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!At midnight, in the month of June,At morn -- at noon -- at twilight dim,Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,Beloved! amid the earnest woesBy a route obscure and lonely,Dim vales, and shadowy floods,During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowersFair river! in thy bright, clear flowFor her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,From childhood's hour I have not beenGayly bedight,Hear the sledges with the bells,Helen, thy beauty is to me.I dwelt aloneI heed not that my earthly lotI saw thee on thy bridal day,I saw thee once -- once only -- years ago:I was sick -- sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving, me.In Heaven a spirit doth dwellIn spring of youth it was my lotIn the greenest of our valleysIn visions of the dark nightIn youth have I known one with whom the Earth,It was many and many a year ago,It was noontide of summer,Kind solace in a dying hour!Lo! Death has reared himself a throneLo! 't is a gala nightNot long ago the writer of these lines,Of all who hail thy presence as the morning;Oh, that my young life were a lasting dream!Once it smiled a silent dellOnce upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Romance, who loves to nod and singScience! true daughter of Old Time thou art,Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,Take this kiss upon the brow!Thank Heaven! the crisis,The bowers whereat, in dreams, I seeThe happiest day, the happiest hourThe
Red Deathhad long devastated the country.The ring is on my hand,The skies they were ashen and sober;The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.There are some qualities, some incorporate things,Thou wast all that to me, love,Thou wouldst be loved? -- then let thy heartThy soul shall find itself aloneType of the antique Rome! Rich reliquaryYe who read are still among the living; but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the region of shadows.