Thou wast that all to me, love,
       For which my soul did pine-
     A green isle in the sea, love,
       A fountain and a shrine,
     All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
       And all the flowers were mine.

     Ah, dream too bright to last!
       Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
     But to be overcast!
       A voice from our the Future crise,
     "On! on!"- but o'er the Past
       (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
     Mute, motionless, aghast!

     For, alas! alas! with me
       The light of Life is o'er!
     No more- no more- no more-
       (Such language holds the solemn sea
     To the sands upon the shore)
       Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
     Or the stricken eagle soar!

     And all my days are trances,
       And all my nightly dreams
     Are where thy grey eye glances,
       And where thy foorstep gleams-
     In what etheral dances,
       By what eternal streams.

~ Edgar Allan Poe

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