TO F——


Edgar Allan Poe

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.

And thus thy memory is to me
    Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuos sea—
Some ocean throbbing far and free
    With storms—but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
    Just o’re that one bright island smile.

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