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To M--

Edgar Allan Poe 1809 (Boston) – 1849 (Baltimore)

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
  Lie dead on my heart-strings
  With the weight of an age of snows.

  Not 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.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe was an American author, poet, editor, and literary critic, considered part of the American Romantic Movement. Poe is best known for his poetry and short stories, particularly his tales of mystery and the macabre. more…

All Edgar Allan Poe poems | Edgar Allan Poe Books

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