Edgar Allan Poe

To F——

Beloved! amid the earnest woes
⁠   That crowd around my earthly path—
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)—
⁠   My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
   An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me
⁠   Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea—
Some ocean throbbing far and free
   ⁠With storms—but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
   ⁠Just o'er that one bright island smile.

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