Edgar Allan Poe

(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849 / Boston)

Edgar Allan Poe Poems

41. The Haunted Palace 12/31/2002
42. The Happiest Day, The Happiest Hour 12/31/2002
43. For Annie 12/31/2002
44. The Conqueror Worm 12/31/2002
45. To Helen 12/31/2002
46. To My Mother 12/31/2002
47. Romance 12/31/2002
48. Imitation 1/1/2004
49. A Paean 3/25/2010
50. Al Aaraaf 12/31/2002
51. Fairy-Land 12/31/2002
52. Lenore 12/31/2002
53. Spirits Of The Dead 12/31/2002
54. Elizabeth 12/31/2002
55. The Bells 12/31/2002
56. The City In The Sea 12/31/2002
57. Eulalie 12/31/2002
58. Bridal Ballad 12/31/2002
59. An Enigma 12/31/2002
60. A Valentine 12/31/2002
61. Dreamland 12/31/2002
62. Dreams 12/31/2002
63. Evening Star 12/31/2002
64. A Dream 12/31/2002
65. Eldorado 12/31/2002
66. The Raven 12/31/2002
67. Alone 12/31/2002
68. A Dream Within A Dream 12/31/2002
69. Annabel Lee 12/31/2002

Comments about Edgar Allan Poe

  • Christina (1/28/2018 7:20:00 PM)

    Why did Edgar Allen Poe write A Dream Within A Dream.

    8 person liked.
    5 person did not like.
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  • Bradley Howington Bradley Howington (12/20/2017 3:32:00 AM)

    Edgar Allan Poe is a great writer. Love him.

  • Diggy Mc Short Nigger (11/15/2017 1:30:00 PM)

    I've Licked My cats asshole

  • John Waltz (11/6/2017 7:13:00 AM)

    Yo my nut sack glued to a table, and asshole drops turds of shit nigga

  • John Waltz (11/6/2017 7:12:00 AM)

    Tanner fox has autism

  • John Doe John Doe (9/14/2017 8:45:00 AM)

    Edgar Allan Poe to Mrs. Maria Clemm — July 7,1849
    My dear, dear Mother,
    I have been so ill — have had the cholera, or spasms quiet as bad, and can now hardly hold the pen
    The very instant you get this, come to me. The joy of seeing you will almost compensate for our sorrows. We can but die together. It is no use to reason with me now; I must die. I have no desire to live since I have done “Eureka.” I could accomplish nothing more. For your sake it would be sweet to live, but we muse die together. You have been all in all to me, darling, ever beloved mother, and dearest, truest friend.
    I was never really insane, except on occasions where my heart was touched...
    I have been taken to prison once since I came here for spreeing drunk; but then I was not. It was about Virginia.

  • John Doe John Doe (9/14/2017 8:44:00 AM)

    Edgar Allan Poe to Mrs. Maria Clemm — July 7,1849
    My dear, dear Mother, —

    I have been so ill — have had the cholera, or spasms quiet as bad, and can now hardly hold the pen[...]

    The very instant you get this, come to me. The joy of seeing you will almost compensate for our sorrows. We can but die together. It is no use to reason with me now; I must die. I have no desire to live since I have done “Eureka.” I could accomplish nothing more. For your sake it would be sweet to live, but we muse die together. You have been all in all to me, darling, ever beloved mother, and dearest, truest friend.

    I was never really insane, except on occasions where my heart was touched[...]

    I have been taken to prison once since I came here for spreeing drunk; but then I was not. It was about Virginia.

  • Yoi Yami Yoi Yami (6/1/2017 7:05:00 AM)

    I've been studying English poems by myself, and found his works beautiful. I'm happy if you contact me cause I want to make friends on PoemHunter. My English is still rousy, but I want to write poems like his works.....

Best Poem of Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In ...

Read the full of Annabel Lee

Lenore

Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now or nevermore!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read- the funeral song be sung!-
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young-
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated

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