Category Edgar Allan Poe

When wit, and wine, and friends have met And laughter crowns the festive hour In vain I struggle to forget Still does my heart confess thy power And fondly turn to thee! But Octavia, do not strive to rob My…

Though I turn, I fly not — I cannot depart; I would try, but try not To release my heart. And my hopes are dying While, on dreams relying, I am spelled by art. Thus, the bright snake coiling [‘]Neath…

Who hath seduced thee to this foul revolt From the pure well of Beauty undefiled? So banish from true wisdom to prefer Such squalid wit to honourable rhyme? To write? To scribble? Nonsense and no more? I will not write…

I heed not that my earthly lot Hath-little of Earth in it— That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute:— I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I, But that you sorrow…

It was my choice or chance or curse To adopt the cause for better or worse And with my worldly goods & wit And soul & body worship it —-

leep on, sleep on, another hour — I would not break so calm a sleep, To wake to sunshine and to show’r, To smile and weep. Sleep on, sleep on, like sculptured thing, Majestic, beautiful art thou; Sure seraph shields…

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see The wantonest singing birds, Are lips—and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words— Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined, Then desolately fall, O God! on my funereal mind Like starlight on a pall—…

There are some qualities—some incorporate things,    That have a double life, which thus is made A type of that twin entity which springs    From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade. There is a two-fold Silence—sea and shore—…

Last night, with many cares & toils oppress’d Weary, I laid me on a couch to rest —

As for Locke, he is all in my eye, May the d—l right soon for his soul call. He never was known to lie — In bed at a reveillé roll-call.” John Locke was a notable name; Joe Locke is a greater:…