And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.
The dead_ we say___as if speakingof __he people_ whogave up on making historysimply to get throughSomething dense and null___groanwithout echo___undergroundand owl-voiced I cry Whoare these dead people theselovers who if ever didlisten no longer answer: We :
Tonight No Poetry Will Serve
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The dead_ we say___as if speakingof __he people_ whogave up on making historysimply to get throughSomething dense and null___groanwithout echo___undergroundand owl-voiced I cry Whoare these dead people theselovers who if ever didlisten no longer answer: We :
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Love is an exorcism of angels.
The dead pull the living down.
With horror he perceived that, by uniting himself as he had with the dead, he had cut himself off from the living. Stripped of all earthly hope, bereft of every consolation, he was rendered as poor as mortal can possiblybe on this side of the grave.
The dead are jealous, jealous, jealous and they will do anything to keep you from the living, the lucky living. They will argue with you, and distract you, and if that doesn't work, they will even let you hug them, and dance for you, and kiss you, and laugh, anything to keep you. The dead are selfish. Jealous. Lonely. Desperate. Hungry. ("The Chambered Fruit")
If on thoughts of death we are fed,Thus, a coffin, became my bed.