Ulalume
The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispéd and sere– The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake…
Category Edgar Allan Poe
“I have great faith in fools — self-confidence my friends call it.”
To The River
Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow Of crystal, wandering water, Thou art an emblem of the glow Of beauty- the unhidden heart- The playful maziness of art In old Alberto’s daughter; But when within thy wave she looks-…
To One In Paradise
Thou wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine- A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. Ah,…
To One Departed
Seraph! thy memory is to me Like some enchanted far-off isle In some tumultuous sea – Some ocean vexed as it may be With storms; but where, meanwhile, Serenest skies continually Just o’er that one bright island smile. For ‘mid…
To Marie Louise {MLS}
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning- Of all to whom thine absence is the night- The blotting utterly from out high heaven The sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless thee Hourly for hope- for life- ah!…
To—M
O! I care not that my earthly lot Hath little of Earth in it, That years of love have been forgot In the fever of a minute: I heed not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I, But…
To Helen – 1831
Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o’er a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy…
To Helen – 1848
I saw thee once- once only- years ago: I must not say how many- but not many. It was a July midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through…
Thou wouldst be loved?
Thou wouldst be loved?- then let thy heart From its present pathway part not! Being everything which now thou art, Be nothing which thou art not. So with the world thy gentle ways, Thy grace, thy more than beauty, Shall…
To F—
Beloved! amid the earnest woes That crowd around my earthly path- (Drear path, alas! where grows Not even one lonely rose)- My soul at least a solace hath In dreams of thee, and therein knows An Eden of bland repose.…