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For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful...more

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Even in the grave, all is not lost.

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To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary.

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Lord help my poor soul.

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I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.

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Blood was its Avatar and its seal.

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To HelenI saw thee once-once only-years ago;I must not say how many-but not many.It was a july midnight; and from outA full-orbed moon, that, like thi...more

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With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.

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You call it hope — that fire of fire!It is but agony of desire.

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Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them.

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With me poetry has not been a purpose but a passion.

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It was many and many a year ago,In a kingdom by the sea,That a maiden there lived whom you may knowBy the name of ANNABEL LEE;And this maiden she live...more

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Music, when combined with a pleasurable idea, is poetry; music, without the idea, is simply music; the idea, without the music, is prose, from its ver...more

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Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!

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Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.