Poe's Works

The Happiest Day The happiest day — the happiest hour,My sear’d and blighted heart has known,The brightest glance of pride and powerI feel hath flown —  Of power, said I? Yes, such I ween —But it has vanish’d — long alas!The visions of my youth have been —But let them pass. — And pride! what have I now with thee?Another brow may e’en inheritThe venom thou hast pour’d on me:Be still my spirit.  The smile of love — soft friendship's charm —Bright hope itself has fled at last,’T will ne’er again my bosom warm—‘Tis ever past.  The happiest day, — the happiest hour,Mine eyes shall ...

For Annie Thank Heaven! — the crisis —The danger is past;And the lingering illnessIs over at last ——And the fever called “Living”Is conquered at last.——Sadly, I know, I amShorn of my strength,And no muscle I move,As I lie at full length: —But no matter! — I feelI am better, at length.——And I rest so composedlyNow, in my bed,That any beholderMight fancy me dead —Might start at beholding me,Thinking me dead.——The sickness — the nausea —The pitiless pain —Have ceased, with the feverThat maddened my brain —With the fever called “Living”That burned in my brain.——The moaning and groaning —The ...

Fanny The dying swan by northern lakesSings its wild death song, sweet and clear,And as the solemn music breaksO’er hill and glen dissolves in air;Thus musical thy soft voice came,Thus trembled on thy tongue my name.Like sunburst through the ebon cloud,Which veils the solemn midnight sky,Piercing cold evening's sable shroud,Thus came the first glance of that eye;But like the adamantine rock,My spirit met and braved the shock.Let memory the boy recallWho laid his heart upon thy shrine,When far away his footsteps fall,Think that he deem’d thy charms divine;A victim on love's altar slain,By ...

Evening Star ’Twas noontide of summer,And mid-time of night;And stars, in their orbits,Shone pale, thro’ the lightOf the brighter, cold moon,’Mid planets her slaves,Herself in the Heavens,Her beam on the waves.I gaz’d awhileOn her cold smile;Too cold — too cold for me —There pass’d, as a shroud,A fleecy cloud,And I turn’d away to thee,Proud Evening Star,In thy glory afar,And dearer thy beam shall be;For joy to my heartIs the proud partThou bearest in Heav’n at night,And more I admireThy distant fire,Than that colder, lowly light. Edgar Allan Poe Originally Published in 1827 ...