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When wit, and wine, and friends have met
And laughter crowns the festive hour
In vain I struggle to forget
Still does my heart confess thy power
And fondly turn to thee!
But Octavia, do not strive to rob
My heart of all that soothes its pain
The mournful hope that every throb
Will make it break for thee!
[May the 1st 1827 —]
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Notes:
The date at the bottom of the manscript was clearly written by a hand other than Poe's, which is why it is here given in square brackets.
Because this poem has been identifed as something Poe merely adapted from a known source, it is perhaps necessary to explain that poems written in the album of a young lady were intended as sincere but not necessarily original tributes. Poe did not sign the poem, and thus was not claiming authorship for himself. The error has been made only by later editors, who were unaware of the true origins and put the poem in print as if composed and not merely written by Poe.
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[S:1 - MS, 1827] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - To Octavia (Text-01)