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

  • * Sunprincess * (9/16/2015 4:10:00 PM)

    ....a most incredible write and stunning realization ★ of the truth that gold can never buy (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Mark Arvizu Mark Arvizu (9/12/2014 10:47:00 AM)

    Always so funereal that Poe (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

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

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

[Report Error]