THE TOMB OF EDGAR POE

Even as eternity his soul reclaimed,

The poet’s song ascended in a strain So pure, the astonished âge that had defamed,

Saw death transformed in that divine refrain.

While ivrithing coils of hydra-headed wrong,

Eistening, and wondering at that heavenly song,

Deemed they had drunk of some foui mixture brewed In Circe’s maddening cup, with sorcery imbued.

Alas ! if from an alien to is clime.

No bas-relief may grâce thy front sublime.

Stem block, in some obscure disaster hurled From the rent heart of a primerai ivorld,

Through storied centuries thou shalt proudly stand In the memorial city of his land,

A silent monitor, austere and gray,

To warn the clamorous brood of harpies from their prey.

LES POEMES D’EDGAR POE

Traduction de Mrs Louise Chandler Moulton