~Edgar Allan Poe~

~To My Mother~

Because I feel that,in the heavens above,

~The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, amoung thier burning terms of love,

~None so devotional as that of "Mother" Therefore by the dear name I long to called you-

~You who are more than mther unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you,

~In setting my Virinia's spirits free. My mother-my own mother,who died so early,

~Was but the mother to the one I loved so dearly, ~And thus are dearer than than the mother I knew

By that infinity with which my wife ~Was dearer to my soul than it's soul-life~

~A Dream Within A Dream~

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away In night, or in day, In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand-

How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I Weep-while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp Than with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?