Ode To Poe's Love Poem by John Allen Richter

Within a moment, can solemn worry -
from a care-free life loving lore,
foresee the grieving wretch of me,
with the great loss of dear Elinore.

If madness pervades my thought,
that should she bejewel my soul -
then let this madness be brought -
accepting it over ten-fold.

As never a beauty should rise -
above my solemn sun crest.
within the mist of her eyes -
finds my soul's lone happiness.

Eleanor, my ardent love be true,
and I shall voice it to the clouds...
less your lips now cold and blue
should come forth from buried ground.

Dear, allow this waft of roses,
brought to thee by the dozen -
sooth thee through thy heav'nly dozes -
My dearest, most sweetest cousin....

And ever need you may call my name,
through the lonely whippoorwill,
or if you insist, all the same -
a black raven above my sill.