ENTER THE U.S. POLITICS ONLINE DISCUSSION FORUM
Note: The text below is in the public domain. This text is offered to the general public for non-profit educational purposes. U.S. Politics Online does not own any copyrights pertaining to the text. Any copyrights that may exist as to the format, translation, etc., resides with the respective author/formatter, not U.S. Politics Online. U.S. Politics Online did convert the original text file into html. Any errors with respect to formatting is a result of a program used to automate the process.
Due to the requirements for redistribution of this text by some of the sources, the original source from which I obtained the text at times will not be disclosed. If you would like information with respect to where I obtained the text then please send me an e-mail: archives@uspoliticsonline.com. Such sources are not liable in any way for the text here. I would simply provide you with information where you can find the original text of the document, which may or may not be identical to what you see here. I have made every attempt to comply with the wishes of the sources of these documents. If an error is found with respect to such compliance then please bring it to my attention immediately so the matter can be resolved.
Also, if you are the person responsible for converting the text to the electronic format and would like credit for your work in the document, please e-mail me and I would be more than happy to comply. Due to my conversion of these text documents into the html format and the possibility for errors to occur in said conversion, I did not want to inadvertently attribute such errors to you.
1850
SERENADE
by Edgar Allan Poe
SERENADE
So sweet the hour, so calm the time,
I feel it more 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 second 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 music 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.
THE END
.