Edgar Allan Poe

To F ---

Beloved! amid the earnest woes
     That crowd around my earthly path-
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)-
     My soul at least a solace hath
 In dreams of thee, and therein knows
 An Eden of bland repose.

 And thus thy memory is to me
      Like some enchanted far-off isle
 In some tumultuous sea-
 Some ocean throbbing far and free
      With storms- but where meanwhile
 Serenest skies continually
      Just o'er that one bright island smile.

spoken = Lee Vogt