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“SELDOM we find,” says Solomon Don Dunce,
“Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnet —
Trash of all trash! — how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff —
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it.”
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.
[[v]]
The general Petrarchanities are arrant
Bubbles — ephemeral and so transparent —
But this is, now, — you may depend upon it —
Stable, opaque, immortal — all by dint
Of the dear names that lie concealed within ’t.
[The following footnote appears at the bottom of page 69:]
1The title in all other editions of Poe's poems is, “An Enigma.”
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Notes:
None.
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[S:0 - JHW11, 1911] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - An Enigma (ed. J. H. Whitty, 1911)