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!To Helen
About the poet
Edgar Allan Poe
On January 19, 1809, Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, Massachusetts. Poe's father and mother, both professional actors, died before the poet was three years old, and John and Frances Allan raised him as a foster child in Richmond, Virginia. John Allan, a p…
View profile & all 56 Poems / StoriesMore from Edgar Allan Poe
The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
The Bells
I.Hear the sledges with the bells
Fairy-Land
Dim vales and shadowy floodsAnd cloudy-looking woods,
To My Mother
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,The angels, whispering to one another,
The City in the Sea
Lo! Death has reared himself a throneIn a strange city lying alone
