those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep,--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man,
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

EXPRESSION: Observe that this poem is written in blank verse. In
what respects does it differ from other forms of verse? Read it
with great care, observing the marks of punctuation and giving to
each passage the proper inflections and emphasis. Compare it with
some other poems you have read.

II

One Sunday evening, in the summer of 1848, Edgar Allan Poe was visiting
at the house of a friend in New York city. The day was warm, and the
windows of the conservatory where he was sitting were thrown wide open
to admit the breeze. Mr. Poe was very despondent because of many sorrows
and disappointments, and he was plainly annoyed by the sound of some
near-by church bells pealing the hour of worship.

"I have made an agreement with a publisher to write a poem for him," he
said, "but I have no inspiration for such a task. What shall I do?"

His friend Mrs. Shew gave him an encouraging reply, and invited him to
drink tea with her. Then she placed paper and ink before him and
suggested that, if he would try to write, the required inspiration would
come.

"No," he answered; "I so dislike the noise of bells to-night, I cannot