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Fie, Philo, how you talk, You're mad, Mad, man, I say, as mad as death. Dost think men live and walk This earth for life alone? You balk The truth, you - waste your breath, You're mad. Men live for Truth, I know, For Truth; Truth, man, for…

My youth? Ah, yes; just through the door; yes, there. The room is empty? Strange. I left it not A moment since, I vow, upon a chair Just where you looked; and now 'tis gone? Sad lot. The past's a thief. 'Twas first my childhood, now It is my…

One day, 'twas long ago, I met a maiden, far to see, A maiden fair and dear to me; But that was long ago. She was so fair, I know; How fair she was I cannot say, But fairer than a morn of May: But that was long ago. And we did vow, I…

Sweet moments live though they be dead; And love-words glow that we have said; The pulse thrills now, as in the hour When love first dwelt in its own bower And bowed a slave to its mad power! So what care I For th' inky sky? The past is mine, -…

How gloriously it beameth, With twinkling, silver ray, Resplendent in its beauty, To light us on our way. Though oft the clouds are heavy, And shadows cast before, That star on all was shining, From hut to palace door. The firmament above…

I dreamt there came a love I ne'er before
Had felt. I cannot tell its shape, it came
As comes the light of morn with just the same
Bright witching spell, and, lo, the dream was o'er.
I dreamt there came a sigh, on wings which bore
It deep into…

I know not how the shadow of a thought Might fall across a poet's dreamful way; But in such brains strange things Are often by the vagrant fancy caught And thrown aside, as mimics in a play, Vexing the Harpist's strings.

A doubt obscured my fondest hope, Intangible as are forgotten dreams; T'was but the shade through which the heart must grope, Ere on it Love doth shed her ardent beams.

There fell a shadow of a thought across my way,
Deep set and strangely out of shape with things
About me here, - 'tis but a cloud which Day
Hath brought to chide before Love's joy she sings.

I know not why, but it is true - it may, In some way, be because he was a child Of the fierce sun 'neath which I wept and smiled - I love the dark browed Poe. His too short day Was lived in dreams, in dreams that him beguiled. When not along his…