When first published, it contained the following additional stanza
      which Poe subsequently, at the suggestion of Mrs. Whitman, wisely
      suppressed:

     Said we then—we two, then—“Ah, can it
     Have been that the woodlandish ghouls—
     The pitiful, the merciful ghouls—
     To bar up our path and to ban it
     From the secret that lies in these wolds—
     Had drawn up the spectre of a planet
     From the limbo of lunary souls—
     This sinfully scintillant planet
     From the Hell of the planetary souls?”


      4. “To Helen” (Mrs. S. Helen Whitman) was not published until November,
      1848, although written several months earlier. It first appeared in the
      “Union Magazine,” and with the omission, contrary to the knowledge or
      desire of Poe, of the line, “Oh, God! oh, Heaven—how my heart beats
      in coupling those two words.”


      5. “Annabel Lee” was written early in 1849, and is evidently an expression
      of the poet’s undying love for his deceased bride, although at least one
      of his lady admirers deemed it a response to her admiration. Poe sent a
      copy of the ballad to the “Union Magazine,” in which publication it
      appeared in January, 1850, three months after the author’s death. While
      suffering from “hope deferred” as to its fate, Poe presented a copy of
      “Annabel Lee” to the editor of the “Southern Literary Messenger,” who
      published it in the November number of his periodical, a month after Poe’s
      death. In the meantime the poet’s own copy, left among his papers, passed
      into the hands of the person engaged to edit his works, and he quoted the
      poem in an obituary of Poe, in the New York “Tribune,” before any one else
      had an opportunity of publishing it. 6. “A Valentine,” one of three poems addressed to Mrs. Osgood, appears to
      have been written early in 1846. 7. “An Enigma,” addressed to Mrs. Sarah Anna Lewis (“Stella”), was sent to
      that lady in a letter, in November, 1847, and the following March appeared
      in Sartain’s “Union Magazine.”


      8. The sonnet, “To My Mother” (Maria Clemm), was sent for publication to
      the short-lived “Flag of our Union,” early in 1849, but does not appear
      to have been issued until after its author’s death, when it appeared in
      the “Leaflets of Memory” for 1850. 9. “For Annie” was first published in the “Flag of our Union,” in the
      spring of 1849. Poe, annoyed at some misprints in this issue, shortly
      afterwards caused a corrected copy to be inserted in the “Home Journal.”


      10. “To F——” (Frances Sargeant Osgood) appeared in the
      “Broadway Journal” for April, 1845. These lines are but slightly varied
      from those inscribed “To Mary,” in the “Southern Literary Messenger” for
      July, 1835, and subsequently republished, with the two stanzas transposed,
      in “Graham’s Magazine” for March, 1842, as “To One Departed.”


      11. “To F——s S. O—d,” a portion of the poet’s triune
      tribute to Mrs. Osgood, was published in the “Broadway Journal” for
      September, 1845. The earliest version of these lines appeared in the
      “Southern Literary Messenger” for September, 1835, as “Lines written in an
      Album,” and was addressed to Eliza White, the proprietor’s daughter. Slightly revised, the poem reappeared in Burton’s “Gentleman’s Magazine”
       for August, 1839, as “To——.”


      12. Although “Eldorado” was published during Poe’s lifetime, in 1849, in
      the “Flag of our Union,” it does not appear to have ever received the
      author’s finishing touches. POEMS OF MANHOOD




LENORE


     Ah broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
     And, Guy de Vere, hast _thou_ no tear?—weep now or never more! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!—
     An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young—
     A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. “Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
     And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her—that she died! How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be sung
     By you—by yours, the evil eye,—by yours, the slanderous tongue
     That did to death the innocent that died, and died so young?”

      _Peccavimus_; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
     Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong! The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside
     Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride—
     For her, the fair and _debonair_, that now so lowly lies,
     The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes—
     The life still there, upon her hair—the death upon her eyes. “Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,
     But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days! Let _no_ bell toll!—lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
     Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned Earth. To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven—
     From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven—
     From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven.”




TO ONE IN PARADISE. Thou wast all that 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 out the Future cries,
     “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 dark eye glances,
         And where thy footstep gleams—
     In what ethereal dances,
         By what eternal streams. 1835. THE COLISEUM. Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
     Of lofty contemplation left to Time
     By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length—at length—after so many days
     Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
     (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)
     I kneel, an altered and an humble man,
     Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
     My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory! Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night! I feel ye now—I feel ye in your strength—
     O spells more sure than e’er Judæan king
     Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane!