Text: Edgar Allan Poe, “To M. L. S——” (B), Home Journal (New York), March 13, 1847, p. 4, col. 1


[page 4, top of column 1:]

[THE following seems said over a hand clasped in the speaker’s two. It is by Edgar A. Poe, and is evidently the pouring out of a very deep feeling of gratitude.]

TO M. L. S——.

OF all who hail thy presence as the morning —

Of all to whom thine absence is the night —

The blotting utterly from out high heaven

The sacred sun — of all who, weeping, bless thee

Hourly for hope — for life — ah! above all,

For the resurrection of deep-buried faith

In Truth — in Virtue — in Humanity —

Of all who, on Despair’s unhallowed bed

Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen

At thy soft-murmured words, ‘Let there be light!’

At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled

In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes —

Of all who owe thee most — whose gratitude

Nearest resembles worship — oh, remember

The truest — the most fervently devoted,

And think that these weak lines are written by him —

By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think

His spirit is communing with an angel’s.

E. A. P.



“Mrs. M. L. S——” was Mrs. Marie Louise Shew, Poe’s friend and Virginia’s nurse.


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