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About this Poem 

From The Works of Edgar Allan Poe in Five Volumes: The Raven Edition (P.F. Collier, 1902)

 

Romance

     Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
     With drowsy head and folded wing,
     Among the green leaves as they shake
     Far down within some shadowy lake,
     To me a painted paroquet
     Hath been—a most familiar bird—
     Taught me my alphabet to say—
     To lisp my very earliest word
     While in the wild wood I did lie,
     A child—with a most knowing eye.

     Of late, eternal Condor years
     So shake the very Heaven on high
     With tumult as they thunder by,
     I have no time for idle cares
     Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
     And when an hour with calmer wings
     Its down upon thy spirit flings—
     That little time with lyre and rhyme
     To while away—forbidden things!
     My heart would feel to be a crime
     Unless it trembled with the strings.

     1829.

This poem is in the public domain. 

This poem is in the public domain. 

Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe

Born in 1809, Edgar Allan Poe had a profound impact on American and international literature as an editor, poet, and critic.

by this poet

poem

I.

        Hear the sledges with the bells—
                 Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
        How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
           In the icy air of night!
        While the stars that oversprinkle
        All the heavens, seem to twinkle
poem
     For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
         Brightly expressive as the twins of Loeda,
     Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies
         Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
     Search narrowly the lines!—they hold a treasure
         Divine—a talisman
poem
     Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
         Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take
     How many memories of what radiant hours
         At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
     How many scenes of what departed bliss!
         How many thoughts of what entombed hopes!
     How many