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Philadelphia
November 6. 1840.
Dear Sir,
Having been absent from town for the last few days I have only this moment received your letter of the 10th ult, and now hasten to comply with the very flattering request it contains, by transcribing a Sonnet of my own composition.
To Zante.
Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers
Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take,
How many mem’ries of what radiant hours
At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
How many thoughts of what entombed hopes!
How many visions of a maiden that is
No more — no more upon thy verdant slopes!
No More! alas, that magical sad sound
Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more —
Thy memory no more! Accursed ground
Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore,
O, Hyacinthine isle! O, purple Zante!
Isola d’oro! Fior di Levante!
E.A.P.
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Notes:
None.
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[S:0 - MS, 18xx] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Letters - Poe to R. H. Stoddard (LTR103/RCL257)