Edgar Allan Poe Club
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added by Milah
added by ravencarito
As the trio of officers tore at the planks, they soon became acutely aware that plus than just three lone people were working to get the body out- there was a fourth force, and this force was coming from the undersurface of the floor, where only the supposed corpse lay.
When they should have been seeing simply a hodge podge of gruesome pieces of an elderly man, they instead saw something far worse. They saw the stuff of nightmares as a zombie of sorts comprised of the shredded pieces jumped out at the men and quickly snapped their necks and threw them to the side- for they weren't his intended...
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posted by Milah
So sweet the hour, so calm the time,
I feel it plus than half a crime,
When Nature sleeps and stars are mute,
To mar the silence ev'n with lute.
At rest on ocean's brilliant dyes
An image of Elysium lies:
Seven Pleiades entranced in Heaven,
Form in the deep another seven:
Endymion nodding from above
Sees in the sea a seconde love.
Within the valleys dim and brown,
And on the spectral mountain's crown,
The wearied light is dying down,
And earth, and stars, and sea, and sky
Are redolent of sleep, as I
Am redolent of thee and thine
Enthralling love, my Adeline.
But list, O list,- so soft and low
Thy lover's voice tonight shall flow,
That, scarce awake, thy soul shall deem
My words the musique of a dream.
Thus, while no single sound too rude
Upon thy slumber shall intrude,
Our thoughts, our souls- O God above!
In every deed shall mingle, love.
added by Milah
Source: deviantART
added by gothic-balerina
posted by Milah
In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not l’amour the less-
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody-
Then- ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight-
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach ou bribe me to define-
Nor Love- although the l’amour were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining-
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.
added by rainbow532
added by goonies
Source: Deviant Art .com
added by Milah
Source: deviantART
posted by Vixie79
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. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified - have tortured - have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little...
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added by philiphatter
Source: Thistledown Puppets
added by Gabri3la
Source: http://ghostofpoe.tumblr.com/
added by Vixie79
Source: Google images
added by Vixie79
Source: Google images
added by Milah
added by Milah
posted by Milah
Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An Angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The musique of the spheres.

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!

That motley drama- oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
par a crowd that seize...
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posted by Milah
Kind solace in a dying hour!
Such, father, is not (now) my theme-
I will not madly deem that power
Of Earth may shrive me of the sin
Unearthly pride hath revell'd in-
I have no time to dote ou dream:
You call it hope- that feu of fire!
It is but agony of desire:
If I can hope- Oh God! I can-
Its fount is holier- plus divine-
I would not call thee fool, old man,
But such is not a gift of thine.

Know thou the secret of a spirit
Bow'd from its wild pride into shame.
O yearning heart! I did inherit
Thy withering portion with the fame,
The searing glory which hath shone
Amid the jewels of my throne,
Halo of Hell!...
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