Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe

Jan. 19, 1809 - Oct 7, 1849

 

The Happiest Day, The Happiest Hour

by Edgar Allan Poe

The happiest day, the happiest hour
My seared and blighted heart hath known,
The highest hope of pride and power,
I feel hath flown.

Of power, said I? yes! such I ween;
But they have vanished long, alas!
The visions of my youth have been --
But let them pass.

And, pride, what have I now with thee?
Another brow may even inherit
The venom thou hast poured on me --
Be still, my spirit!

The happiest day, the happiest hour
Mine eyes shall see -- have ever seen,
The brightest glance of pride and power,
I feel -- have been.

But were that hope of pride and power
Now offered, with the pain
Even then I felt, -- that brightest hour
I would not live again.

For on its wing was dark alloy,
And, as it fluttered, fell
An essence, powerful to destroy
A soul that knew it well.

Source:

The Works Of Edgar Allan Poe
Volume 10: Poems
Copyright 1895
Stone & Kimball, Chicago
 
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