23 lines
715 B
Plaintext
23 lines
715 B
Plaintext
1835
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TO F--
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by Edgar Allan Poe
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Beloved! amid the earnest woes
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That crowd around my earthly path-
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(Drear path, alas! where grows
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Not even one lonely rose)-
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My soul at least a solace hath
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In dreams of thee, and therein knows
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An Eden of bland repose.
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And thus thy memory is to me
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Like some enchanted far-off isle
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In some tumultuous sea-
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Some ocean throbbing far and free
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With storms- but where meanwhile
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Serenest skies continually
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Just o'er that one bright island smile.
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-THE END-
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