Text: Anonymous, “Some New Poe Poems,” Baltimore Sun (Baltimore, MD), vol. CXLVII, no. 153, October 16, 1910, p. 12, cols. 7-8

[page 12, column 7:]

SOME NEW POE POEMS

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These Have Been Discovered In A Boston Publication Of 1847.

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TO GO IN “THE VIRGINIA POE”

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The New Edition of The Poet's Writings Anticipated Through The Medium Of The Sun.

It will be of interest to all lovers of Poe to learn that new forms of several of his poems have teen discovered in a Boston publication of 1847, called The Flag of Our Union, and that all of these will be included in the new edition of “The Virginia Poe,” edited by Dr. James A. Harrison, of the University of Virginia, and published by T. Y. Crowell Co. The editors have decided to anticipate the new edition, and through the medium of THE SUN present these new forms in their entirety. Mr. George Parson, of Washington, copied the poems for “The Virginia Poe” and also furnished the notes appended.

A VALENTINE.

For her these lines are penned, whose luminous eyes,

Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,

Shall find her own sweet name that nestling lies

Upon this page, enwrapped from every reader.

Search narrowly this rhyme, which holds a treasure

Divine — a talisman — an amulet

That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure;

The words — the letters themselves. 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 understand the plot.

Enwritten. upon this page whereon are peering

Such eager eyes, there lies, I say, perdu,

A well-known name, 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.

The above version appeared in the Flag of Our Union for March 3, 1849, prefaced by the following paragraph:

“At a Valentine Soiree, in New York, the following enigmatical lines were received among others and read aloud to the company. The verses were inclosed in an envelope, addressed ‘To Her Whose Name is Written As no lady present could so read the riddle as to And her name written in it, the Valentine remained, and still remains, unclaimed. Can anyone of the readers of the Flag discover for whom it is intended?”

There is no doubt whatever that this form of the poem is of much later date than the Sartain's Union Magazine form. Proof of the fact is found in the issue of the Flag for March 17, 1849, where it is stated that Mr. Poe was called upon to explain why he had disposed of the to two separate publications. Poe's explanation was to the effect that the version which appeared in the Union Magazine had been given by him some time before to a Mr. De Graw, of New York, who planned to start a magazine, but who afterward went to the California gold fields. It was supposed that De Graw disposed of the to Sartain.

FOR ANNIE.

Thank Heaven! the crisis —

The danger is past;

And the lingering illness

Is over at last —

And the fever, called

Is conquered at last.

 

Sadly, I know, I am

Shorn of my strength:

And no muscle I move

As I lie at full length;

But no matter — I feel

I am better at length.

 

And I rest so composedly

Now in my bed

That any beholder

Might fancy me dead

Might start at beholding me,

Thinking me dead.

 

The sickness — the nausea

The pitiless pain

Have ceased with the fever

That maddened my brain

With the fever called ‘Living’

That burned in my brain.

 

The moaning and groaning,

The sighing and sobbing

Are quieted now: and the

Horrible throbbing

At heart: Oh, that horrible.

Horrible throbbing!

 

And, ah! of all tortures,

That torture the

Has abated — the terrible

Torture of thirst

For the naphthaline river

Of glory accurst —

I have drank of a water

That quenches all thirst.

 

Of a water that flows,

With a lullaby sound,

From a fountain, a very few

Feet underground —

From a cavern not very far

Down under ground.

 

And, ah! let it never be

Foolishly said

That my room it is gloomy,

And narrow my bed;

For man never slept

In a different bed

And, to sleep, you must slumber

In just such a bed.

 

My tantalized spirit

Here blandly reposes,

Forgetting, or never regretting,

Regretting its roses —

Its old agitations

Of myrtles and roses.

 

For now, while so quietly

Lying, it fancies

A holier odor

About it of pansies —

A rosemary odor,

Commingled with pansies —

With rue and the beautiful

Puritan pansies.

 

And so it lies, happily

Bathing in many

A dream of the love

And the beauty of Annie —

Drowned in a bath

Of the tresses of Annie.

 

She tenderly kissed me —

She fondly caressed —

And then I fell gently

To sleep on her breast —

Deeply to sleep from the

Heaven of her breast.

 

When the light was extinguished

She covered me warm

And she prayed to the angels

To keep me from harm —

To the queen of the angels

To shield me from harm.

 

And I lie so composedly,

Now, in my bed —

Knowing her love —

That you fancy me dead.

And I rest so contentedly,

Now in my bed —

With her love at my breast

That you fancy me dead —

That you shudder to look at me,

Thinking me dead.

 

But my heart, it is brighter

That all of the many

Stars of the heaven,

For it sparkles with Annie —

It glows with the fire

Of the love of my Annie —

With thought of the light

Of the eyes of my Annie.

— “Flag of Our Union,” Boston, April 28, 1849.

TO MY MOTHER.

Because I feel that, in the heavens above,

The angels, whispering to one another,

Can find, among their burning terms of love,

None so devotional as that of

Therefore by that sweet name I long have called you —

You, who are more than mother unto me,

And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you,

In setting my Virginia's spirit free. [column 8:]

 

My mother — my own mother — who died early

Was but the mother of myself; but you

Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew

By that infinity with which my wife

Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

— “Flag of Our Union,” Boston, July 7, 1849.

“A Dream Within a Dream,” appearing issue of March 31, 1849, and “Eldorado,” in the issue of April 21, 1849, differ but slightly from the forms given in the last Virginia edition.