by Edgar Allan Poe
November 29th, 2019 at 8:22 pm (Public Domain)
Beloved! amid the earnest woes
That crowd around my earthly path–
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)–
My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.
And thus thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea–
Some ocean throbbing far and free
With storm–but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o’er that one bright inland smile.
