Boston: Their hotels are bad. Their pumpkin pies are delicious. Their poetry is not so good.
Edgar Allan PoeTo Helen Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome. Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand, Ah! Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land!
Edgar Allan PoeI have made no money. I am as poor now as ever I was in my life - except in hope, which is by no means bankable.
Edgar Allan PoeWe allude to the short prose narrative, requiring from a half hour to one or two hours in its perusal
Edgar Allan PoeAnd the Raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor, And my soul from out that shadow, That lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted - nevermore.
Edgar Allan Poe