To F --

Beloved! amid the earnest woes
     That crowd around my earthly path-
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)-
     My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me
     Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea-
Some ocean throbbing far and free
     With storms- but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.

From "Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe" 1835