Poems of Poe
23. The Sleeper
There are two versions of this poem – ‘Poems’ (1831) and ‘The Raven and Other Poems’ (1845). The first version, titled ‘Irene’ is 74 lines, and the second version, titled ‘The Sleeper’ is only 60 lines. Poe would rework the first version of the poem, removing the 4th stanza, and also removing and adding, or slightly changing some of the lines.
Last week, we looked at the first version of this poem ‘Irene’, and this week we’ll look at the second, and shorter version of the poem ‘The Sleeper’ from ‘The Raven and Other Poems’.
The Sleeper
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 Lethë, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps! — and lo! where lies
Irenë, with her Destinies!
Oh, lady bright! can it be right —
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop —
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully — so fearfully —
Above the closed and fringéd lid
’Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid,
That, o’er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come o’er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress!
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!
The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
Forever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!
My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold —
Some vault that oft hath flung its black
And wingéd pannels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o’er the crested palls,
Of her grand family funerals —
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone —
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne’er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.
[Note: I just like to add my own little notes that I make while reading the poem, and you may add your own different little notes, that are just as good, while you read it.]
This version of ‘The Sleeper’ seems much more personal than ‘Irene’, between our poet and the lady - perhaps some loved one who has died. And perhaps we wonder what it may be, when we say ‘may they rest in peace’.