Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!
Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.
No ideas but in things.
History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.
Poe gives the sense for the first time in America, that literature is serious, not a matter of courtesy but of truth.
Outside, the north wind, coming and passing, swelling and dying, lifts the frozen sand drives it a-rattle against the lidless windows and we may dear sit stroking the cat stroking the cat and smiling sleepily, prrrr.