Serenade

Serenade
by Edgar Allen Poe

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.

Burden

When last I stood by my own strength
And cursed fate for bringing me to the utmost need,
When all my striving turned to naught
Beneath the midnight sky,
When weariness permeated every fiber of me,
Leaving me with aimless thought,
Worthless, rambling thought,
When all my world shrunk around me,
Squeezing the substance of each moment
Until it burst under the pressure,

Then did I at last find strength
From behind the furthest star in the sky,
Yet closer than my skin.
Then did I give up my own strength
And Atlas' burden with it.
Then I set the world down for a moment,
Letting its stresses evaporate from my mind
With the dew in the bright morning.
Then I said, "I can't . . .
I can't carry this alone," and sighed.

Then, my time of rest done,
I picked up the world once more;
But this time, there was a hand next to mine,
And as I lifted I found that the burden was much reduced.
The hand took the brunt of the weight of the load,
And I, amazed, remembered then an old, old saying:
"For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Chance or Divinity

Looking out into an endless sea
Of ripples, waves, and tides,
My eyes fail to see
Much beyond the rising swell
That grows yet close
To my lonely vessel,
Swan-prowed
As the ships of elder days.
Caught in the strong west wind,
I am driven ever onward
Into that perpetual blue,
Where sky and sea meet
At horizon ambiguous.
Fog rolls over the deep,
Clouding my view
Of my silent companion,
The sun above.
In melancholy strain,
I sing a mariner's lay
And hold the course
As accurately as I may;
Yet, I know, indeed,
That my destination,
Over the restless foam,
Is yet unknown to me,
For where I first designed to go
May be many leagues now
From where my ship is going,
Led by an unknown navigator.
Though I know not his mind
Or his very identity,
I am at least content
That I do not travel alone.
It remains to be seen,
However,
Whether my companion be
Mere chance
Or Divinity.

Uncertainty

A thousand symbols,
A thousand words,
A thousand meanings;
Surrounded by stimuli,
A perpetual web of Color,
Light and Sound,
We face an uncertain day
With an uncertain hope.
Dawn, with its sunlight
On the deepening snow,
Yet comes,
Its light all the brighter.
The chill of winter
Cannot sap its light;
The chill of uncertainty
Cannot sap our hope.