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All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

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At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon.

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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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To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary.

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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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I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard is never without a pocket-handkerchief.

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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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How had I deserved to be so blessed by such confessions? —how had I deserved to be so cursed with the removal of my beloved in the hour of her making ...more

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

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

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Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.

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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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It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.