To F——, by 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 stormbut where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright inland smile. - Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe