Edgar Allan Poe

I know not why, but it is true—it may, In some way, be because he was a child Of the fierce sun where I first wept and smiled— I love the dark-browed Poe. His feverish day Was spent in dreams inspired, that him beguiled, When not along his path shone forth one ray Of light, of hope, to guide him on the way, That to earth's cares he might be reconciled. Not one of all Columbia's tuneful choir Has pitched his notes to such a matchless key As Poe—the wizard of the Orphic lyre! Not one has dreamed, has sung, such songs as he, Who, like an echo came, an echo went, Singing, back to his mother element.