• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer
Edgar Allan Poe Museum

The Poe Museum

Richmond, VA

We're open!Opening Hours today: 11:00 am – 5:00 pm
  • About
    • Visit
    • Tickets
    • Edgar Allan Poe
      • Poe Biography
      • The Poe Museum Blog
      • Poe’s Complete Works
      • Timeline of Poe’s Life
    • About the Museum
    • Our Team
    • Contact Us
  • Programs
  • Events
    • Calendar
    • Rentals
  • Collections
    • Online Collections
    • Research, Images and Library
    • The Poe Museum Blog
  • Support
    • Membership
    • Internship
    • Volunteer
    • Shop
    • Subscribe to Our Newsletter
  • Donate

To Marie Louise

September 9, 2022

To Marie Louise

Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality,
Maintained the “Power of Words” — denied that ever
A thought arose within the human brain
Beyond the utterance of the human tongue:
And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
Two words — two foreign, soft dissyllables —
Two gentle sounds made only to be murmured
By angels dreaming in the moon-lit “dew
That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill”
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart
Unthought-like thoughts — scarcely the shades of thought —
Bewildering fantasies — far richer visions
Than even the seraph harper, Israfel,
Who “had the sweetest voice of all God’s creatures”,
Would hope to utter. Ah, Marie Louise!
In deep humility I own that now
All pride — all thought of power — all hope of fame —
All wish for Heaven — is merged forevermore
Beneath the palpitating tide of passion
Heaped o’er my soul by thee. Its spells are broken —
The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand —
With that dear name as text I cannot write —
I cannot speak — I cannot even think —
Alas! I cannot feel; for ’tis not feeling —
This standing motionless upon the golden
Threshold of the wide-open gate of Dreams,
Gazing, entranced, adown the gorgeous vista,
And thrilling as I see upon the right —
Upon the left — and all the way along,
Amid the clouds of glory, far away
To where the prospect terminates — thee only.


Edgar Allan Poe

Originally Published in 1848

Filed Under: The Poe Museum Blog Tagged With: Poe's Works

Primary Sidebar

Recent Posts

  • Poe Museum Poetry Contest
  • The Valley of Unrest
  • Spirits of the Dead
  • To My Mother
  • To Marie Louise

Footer

Museum Hours

Tuesday – Saturday
10:00 am – 5:00 pm
Sunday
11:00 am – 5:00 pm

Contact

1914 E Main Street
Richmond, VA 23223
804.648.5523
info@poemuseum.org

Links

SHOP | DONATE | VISIT | PATREON

 

  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Twitter
  • YouTube

Copyright © 2023 PoeMuseum.org