Edgar Allan Poe (19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849 / Boston)
Poems of Edgar Allan Poe
|64.||To Marie Louise (Shew)||3/26/2010|
|65.||To My Mother||12/31/2002|
|66.||To One Departed||1/3/2003|
|67.||To One In Paradise||12/31/2002|
|68.||To The River --||12/31/2002|
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnet-
Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff-
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it."
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.