TO F----.

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.

This online collection of the Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe is part of the digital book collection at Book-Lover.com