Saturday, January 18, 2025

Saturday Poetry Corner: The Haunted Palace

 



"The Haunted Palace" is an allegorical narrative poem written by Edgar Allan Poe
 that was published in 1839.  Although the poem describes a once beautiful palace, 
the place has now fallen into ruin.  Although I believe this poem reflects the inner
torment often suffered by this brilliant man, I see parallels of the decaying
  spiritual condition of America today within Poe's work; our nation was
  once "a fair and stately palace" which has now become "...but a
dim-remembered story...Of the old time entombed."



Edgar Allan Poe
January 19, 1809-October 7, 1849
Image courtesy/The Library of Congress



In the greenest of our valleys

By the good angels tenanted,

Once a fair and stately palace-

Radiant palace-reared its head.

In the monarch Thought's dominion,

It stood there!

Never seraph spread a pinion

Over fabric half so fair!


Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

On its roof did float and flow

(This-all this-was in the olden

Time long ago)

And every gentle air that dallied,

In that sweet day,

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid

A winged odor went away.


Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw

Spirits moving musically

To a lute's well-tuned law,

Round about a throne where, sitting

Porphyrogene!

In state his glory well befitting,

The ruler of the realm was seen.


With all the pearl and ruby glowing

Was the fair palace door,

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing

And sparkling evermore,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty

Was but to sing,

In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king.


But evil things, in robes of sorrow

Assailed the monarch's high estate;

(Ah, let us mourn!-for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)

And round about his home the glory

That blushed and bloomed

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.


And travellers, now, within that valley,

Through the red-litten windows see

Vast forms that move fantastically

To a discordant melody;

While, like a ghastly rapid river,

Through the pale door

A hideous throng rush out forever,

And laugh-but smile no more.





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