|"May the 1st 1827 —" written at the bottom of the page. The date was clearly written by a hand other than Poe's, which is why it is here given in square brackets.|
When wit, and wine, and friends have met
And laughter crowns the festive hour
In vain I struggle to forget
Still does my heart confess thy power
And fondly turn to thee!
But Octavia, do not strive to rob
My heart of all that soothes its pain
The mournful hope that every throb
Will make it break for thee!
|This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.|