TO

I HEED not that my earthly lot

Hath-little of Earth in it--

That years of love have been forgot

In the hatred of a minute:--

I mourn not that the desolate

Are happier, sweet, than I,

But that you sorrow for my fate

Who am a passer-by.

1829.

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