Text: Edgar Allan Poe, “To M——” (Text-03), Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Minor Poems (1829), p. 68


[page 68:]


TO M——


O! I care not that my earthly lot

Hath — little of Earth in it —

That years of love have been forgot

In the fever of a minute —


I heed not that the desolate

Are happier, sweet, than I —

But that you meddle with my fate

Who am a passer-by.


It is not that my founts of bliss

Are gushing — strange! with tears —

Or that the thrill of a single kiss

Hath palsied many years —


‘Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs

Which have wither'd as they rose [page 69:]

Lie dead on my heart-strings

With the weight of an age of snows.


Nor that the grass — O! may it thrive!

On my grave is growing or grown —

But that, while I am dead yet alive

I cannot be, lady, alone.





[S:1 - ATMP, 1829 (fac, 1933)] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - To M—— (Text-03)