Text: A. E. Remington, “Edgar A. Poe,” Ladies' Album (Boston, MA), vol. XIV, no. 1, January 1850, p. 14

THOU art gone, thou richly gifted,

Like a dream thy life has passed;

Fraught with rich jewels of romance,

E’en toils fearful last.

 

Thou art gone, thou richly gifted,

From this clime of shade and sun;

With faults and frailties on thee,

Thou genius-favored one.

 

Thou art gone, thou richly gilled,

Like a dancer from a ball,

When the poison breath swept o’er thee,

Within hope's pillared hall.

 

Thou art gone, thou richly gifted,

At the dawning of the day,

Whose closing we had hoped to see

Lit with a purer ray.

 

Thou art gone, thou richly gifted,

And why should the mourner weep?

Far better let thy frailties rest

In long forgotten sleep.