Poe's Purgatory

All others rest; but I
Dream-haunted lie--
A distant roar,
As of tumultuous waters, evermore
About my brain.


E'en Sleep, tho' fain
To soothe me, flies affrighted, and alone
I bear the incumbent stone
Of Death
That stifles breath,
But not the hideous choruscrying "Shame!"
Upon my name.


Had I not Song?
Yea; and it lingers yet
The souls to fret
Of an ignoble throng,
Aflame with hate
Of the exulting Fate
That hurls their idols from her temple fair,
And shrines me there.