In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.
Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.
And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings -
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.
But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty -
Where Love's a grown-up God -
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.
Therefore thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long!
The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit -
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute -
Well may the stars be mute!
Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely - flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.
If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.
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More Poems by Edgar Allan Poe
A Dream
A Dream Within A Dream
A Valentine
Alone
An Enigma
Annabel Lee
Bridal Ballad
Dreamland
Poe Dreams
Eldorado
Elizabeth Poe
Eulalie
Evening Star
Fairy-Land
Hymn
Imitation
Israfel
Lenore
Romance
Serenade
Song
Spirits Of The Dead
The Bells
The City In The Sea Poe
The Coliseum
The Conqueror Worm
The Happiest Day, The Happiest Hour
The Haunted Palace
The Raven
The Sleeper
The Valley Of Unrest
To Helen
To My Mother
To One In Paradise
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Israfel - Poem Lyrics - Edgar Allan Poe - Israfel

