The Poe Museum Blog

To —— [Violet Vane] I would not lord it o’er thy heart,Alas! I cannot rule my own,Nor would I rob one loyal thought,From him who there should reign alone;We both have found a life-long love;Wherein our weary souls may rest,Yet may we not, my gentle friendBe each to each the second best?  A love which shall be passion-free,Fondness as pure as it is sweet,A bond where all the dearest tiesOf brother, friend and cousin meet, —Such is the union I would frame,That thus we might be doubly blest,With Love to rule our hearts supremeAnd friendship to be second ...

To — — —. Sleep 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 thee with his wingAnd fans thy brow —  We would not deem thee child of earth,For, O, angelic, is thy form!But, that in heav’n thou had'st thy birth,Where comes no storm  To mar the bright, the perfect flow’r,But all is beautiful and still —And golden sands proclaim the hourWhich brings no ill.  Sleep on, sleep on, some fairy dreamPerchance is woven in thy ...

To —— —— 1  The bowers whereat, in dreams, I seeThe wantonest singing birdsAre lips — and all thy melodyOf lip-begotten words — 2  Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrin’dThen desolately fall,O! God! on my funereal mindLike starlight on a pall — 3  Thy heart — thy heart! — I wake and sigh,And sleep to dream till dayOf truth that gold can never buy —Of the trifles that it may. Edgar Allan Poe Originally Published in 1829 ...

Tamerlane   I have sent for thee, holy friar;But ’twas not with the drunken hope,Which is but agony of desireTo shun the fate, with which to copeIs more than crime may dare to dream,That I have call’d thee at this hour:Such father is not my theme —Nor am I mad, to deem that powerOf earth may shrive me of the sinUnearthly pride hath revell’d in —I would not call thee fool, old man,But hope is not a gift of thine;If I can hope (O God! I can)It falls from an eternal shrine. II. The gay wall of this gaudy towerGrows dim around me — death is near.I had not thought, until this hourWhen ...