Text: Edgar Allan Poe, “[To One in Paradise]” (Text-08), “Herring” manuscript, about 1841

Thou wast all that to me, love,

For which my soul did pine,

A green isle in the sea, love,

A fountain and a shrine,

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,

And all the flowers were mine.

 

Now, all my hours are trances,

And all my nightly dreams

Are where thy blue eye glances

And where thy footstep gleams

In what ethereal dances

By what eternal streams.

EDGAR A. POE