Day: June 1, 2022

To M —

1

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 — 

2

I heed not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I —
But that you meddle with my fate
Who am a passer-by. 

3

It is not that my founts of bliss
Are gushing — strange! with tears —
Or that the thrill of a single kiss
Hath palsied many years — 

4

‘Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs
Which have wither’d as they rose
Lie dead on my heart-strings
With the weight of an age of snows.

5 

Nor that the grass — O! may it thrive!
On my grave is growing or grown —
But that, while I am dead yet alive
I cannot be, lady, alone.

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Edgar Allan Poe

Originally Published 1829

An Acrostic

Elizabeth it is in vain you say
“Love not” — thou sayest it in so sweet a way:
In vain those words from thee or L. E. L.
Zantippe’s talents had enforced so well:
Ah! if that language from thy heart arise,
Breathe it less gently forth — and veil thine eyes.
Endymion, recollect, when Luna tried
To cure his love — was cured of all beside —
His folly — pride — and passion — for he died.

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Edgar Allan Poe

Manuscript written around 1829. First published posthumously in 1911.