Figurative Language of Edgar Allan Poe

Above all was the sense of hearing acute.
I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth.

A single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice.

Yes, he was stone, stone dead.

Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone.

It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave.

The breeze-- the breath of God-- is still.

It was a low, dull, quick sound-- much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton.

Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.