To understand this poem, you must first understand the meaning of the title! Israfel is the angel of music, the apostle who came from the Kii Peninsula, the seventh apostle!

This poem It reflects Poe's belief in poetry. It puts forward a theme that guides Edgar Allan Poe's future poetry creation, which is rhyme, like the music of the angel israfel, a poem must please the ear, like The music angel's song is so refreshing

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 enamouredMoon

Blushes with love,

p>

While, to listen, the red levin

(With the rapidPleiads, 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

p>

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.

Translation:

There is a genius who lives in the sky

"Whose heart strings a lute";

Not singing very well and crazy

Because of the angel Israfel,

and dizzying the stars, ( So the legend tells)

Stop their hymns, join the spell

His voice, all muted.

Totter above

In her heart is the most noon,

Infatuated with the moon

Blushing in love,

Although, listen, red Li Wen

(there are rapidPleiads, even,

Seven of them)

Stay in heaven.

They say, (The starry choir

and Other songs (things)

The fire of Israfeli

Is due to the lyre

By which he sat and sung -

The trembling life Lines

These unusual strings.

But that angel of the sky steps on,

Whoever is responsible for deep thinking-

If love is a grown-up God-

Every houri gaze is

overflowing with all the beauty

The star we adore.

Thus your art is not wrong,

Israfeli, who despises

an unimpassioned song;

For your laurels belong,

< p>Best poet, as wisest!

Rejoice long, live!

The ecstasy above

Suits with your burning measures-

p>

Your sadness, your happiness, your hate, your love

With your pipa enthusiasm -

Then it is possible that the stars are dumb!

Yes, heaven is yours, but that's

It's a candy and a world gone bad;

Just our flowers - flowers,

< p>And your perfect shadow of happiness

is our sunshine.

If I could live

Van Israfel

Haas Live, he's there for me,

He probably can't sing, is so crazy

A fatal melody,

Though there are bolder illustrations than that It is possible to expand

From me playing the piano in the sky.