A poetry reading of quality.
The Sleeper, a poem by Edgar Allan Poe takes as it subject a beautiful woman in death.
At midnight in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon. An opiate vapour, dewy, dim, Exhales from out her golden rim, And, softly dripping, drop by drop, Upon the quiet mountain top. Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley. The rosemary nods upon the grave; The lily lolls upon the wave; Wrapping the fog about its breast, The ruin moulders into rest; Looking like Lethe, see! the lake A conscious slumber seems to take, And would not, for the world, awake. All Beauty sleeps!—and lo! where lies (Her easement open to the skies) Irene, with her Destinies!
The speaker in the poem begins by describing the cemetery at midnight in the month of June. He observes the moon and notes…
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Thanks for sharing, Danny.