Book Lover


TO F----.

by Edgar Allan Poe

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 tumultuos sea --
Some ocean throbbing far and free
With storms -- but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o're that one bright island smile.





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