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A Valentine.
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By Edgar A. Poe.
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To —— —— ——
For her this rhyme is
penned,
whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Lœda,
Shall find her own sweet
name, that, nestling, lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly these lines!
— they hold a treasure
Divine — a talisman — an amulet
That must be worn at
heart. Search well the measure —
The words — the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or
you may lose your labor!
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo
without a sabre
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf
where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft
uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets — as the name is a poet's, too.
Its letters, although
naturally
lying
(Like the knight Pinto — Mendez Ferdinando —)
Still form a synonym for
Truth. —— Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can
do.
Valentine's Eve, 1848.
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