Complete Tales and Poems by Edgar Allan Poe - HTML preview

To M---

Oh! I care not that my earthly lot Hath little of Earth in it,
That years of love have been forgot In the fever of a minute:

I heed not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you meddle with my fate Who am a passer by.

It is not that my founts of bliss Are gushing --- strange! with tears ---
Or that the thrill of a single kiss Hath palsied many years ---

'Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs Which have wither'd as they rose
Lie dead on my heart-strings
With the weight of an age of snows.

Not that the grass --- O! may it thrive! On my grave is growing or grown ---
But that, while I am dead yet alive I cannot be, lady, alone.