Edgar Allan Poe

(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849 / Boston)

To -- - Poem by Edgar Allan Poe

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
The wantonest singing birds,
Are lips- and all thy melody
Of lip-begotten words-

Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined,
Then desolately fall,
O God! on my funereal mind
Like starlight on a pall-

Thy heart- thy heart!- I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of the truth that gold can never buy-
Of the baubles that it may.


Comments about To -- by Edgar Allan Poe

  • Veteran Poet - 1,542 Points Mark Arvizu (9/12/2014 10:47:00 AM)

    Always so funereal that Poe (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: truth, sleep, dream, heaven, heart, god



Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002



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