Text: Edgar Allan Poe (ed. James H. Whitty), “An Enigma,” The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1911, p. 69


[page 69, unnumbered:]


“SELDOM we find,” says Solomon Don Dunce,

“Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.

Through all the flimsy things we see at once

As easily as through a Naples bonnet —

Trash of all trash! — how can a lady don it?

Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff —

Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff

Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it.”

And, veritably, Sol is right enough.


The general Petrarchanities are arrant

Bubbles — ephemeral and so transparent —

But this is, now, — you may depend upon it —

Stable, opaque, immortal — all by dint

Of the dear names that lie concealed within ’t.



[The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 69:]

1The title in all other editions of Poe's poems is, “An Enigma.”






[S:0 - JHW11, 1911] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - An Enigma (ed. J. H. Whitty, 1911)