Text: H. E. Harman, “Edgar Allen [Allan]] Poe: At the Grave of the Immortal Poet,” Sunny South (Atlanta, GA), vol. X, no. 477, November 15, 1884, p. 4, col. 4

[page 4, column 4:]

EDITOR SUNNY SOUTH: It was a calm, bright day in June, 1883, when, for the first time in my life, I stood beside the grave of Edgar Allen [[Allan]] Poe in the city of Baltimore. It is in the little Presbyterian churchyard at the corner of Fayette and Green [[Greene]] streets, and has an unpretentious column of marble to mark the spot. At the foot of the column on the east side are the words:

and on the west:

The marble block stands there with no words upon it save the above, no verse from the poet's eloquence to tell how great he was. When he died in Baltimore he was buried by a few friends, and for many years his grave was unmarked by any evidence of distinction whatever. It remained in this condition for three or more decades. when finally a subscription was raised in the city and the monument which now stands over his resting place was unveiled with interesting and imposing ceremonies.

The June roses nodded lazily in the wind and the tender leaves of the white clover decked the little grave as I stood there in the sunlight and gazed upon it and thought of the checkered life the sleeper lived. The fleecy clouds of heaven played lazily ill the bending blue above, the sun light flooded the quiet bosom of the bay and the busy populace went thronging by. all forgetful of the brilliant life that was wrecked within that grave. There were a few rose bushes near, but the sod around the marble was carefully covered with clover and grasses. Other graves are scattered about the little church-yard, and yet Poe's, occupying a corner to itself, seemed distinguished and secluded from all the rest.

Yes, reverently I stood there in the quiet seclusion, and thought of that strange and roaming life, so full of sadness and so destitute of hope. The son of an actress, Poe's early career was careless and aimless. He was adopted by a wealthy Virginian and given a collegiate training. but his college course was an almost un broken season of revelry and regret. His genius appeared at an early age. He began life as a writer, and for a number of years held many important literary positions. He came to Philadelphia in the autumn of 1849 and fell in with carousing companions. Here lie spent several days, but soon left for Baltimore, and there his troubles, financial and domestic, led him again into habits of drink. On the 7th of October he was found dead — supposed to have died under a drunken spell.

These are leading facts in the life of this most brilliant of American poets. Through long and weary years a cloud of gloom has shadowed his fame, and critics used little else than harsh words in speaking of Poe. But a brighter day is dawning upon that fame which has been so long shrouded in injustice. In that great future which stretches beyond our age and generation, when genius like his who sang the song of “Annabel Lee” will have its proper reward — in that age when the cavil and calumny heaped upon his name shall be forgotten — how sacred will be his grave! When the world has learned to value genius for its worth; when the beauty of the “Raven” and the weird, wild eloquence of “Ulalume” have touched our better natures, then will the marble column rise higher aud other flowers than the humble white clover claim a right to deck the place where he sleeps.

The heart grows full as it stands beside that spot. A life so weird, imaginative and tragical — taking its first tints from the Green Room and untimely parentless, cannot do otherwise than excite our sympathy. When we think glow dark it grew by the clouds of poverty — lighted only by the love of a single woman, and then grow dark er still till all its light went out amid an awful gloom — we cannot fail to shed a tear for him who sang our sweetest songs. But his genius cannot sleep, for the star of his greatness grows brighter with each returning year. The bright gems in the fragmentary remains of Edgar Allen [[Allan]] Poe will live as long as the beautiful and pathetic in English verse are admired.

H. E. HARMAN.

Spring Hill, S. C.