Edgar Allan Poe - Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe (Illustrated)

THE COMPLETE WORKS OF

EDGAR ALLAN POE

(1809-1849)

Contents

Delphi Classics 2011

THE COMPLETE WORKS OF

EDGAR ALLAN POE

The Poetry

THE COMPLETE POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

THE COMPLETE POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

POETRY

This is the earliest surviving poem in Poe's hand. It is written on the same page as some financial records for John Allan's business. These notes were filed among the Ellis & Allan papers for November 1824. John Allan was the young Edgar's foster-father.

Last night, with many cares and toils oppress'd

Weary, I laid me on a couch to rest

O, TEMPORA! O, MORES!

For the argument in favor of accepting this poem as by Poe, refer to Jay B. Hubbell, "'O, Tempora! O, Mores!' A Juvenile Poem by Edgar Allan Poe," Elizabethan Studies and Other Essays in Honor of George F. Reynolds, University of Colorado Studies, series B, Studies in the Humanities, vol. 2, no. 4 pp. 314-321.

O, Times! O, Manners! It is my opinion

That you are changing sadly your dominion

I mean the reign of manners hath long ceased,

For men have none at all, or bad at least;

And as for times, altho' 'tis said by many

The "good old times" were far the worst of any,

Of which sound doctrine l believe each tittle,

Yet still I think these worse than them a little.

I've been a thinking isn't that the phrase?

I like your Yankee words and Yankee ways

I've been a thinking, whether it were best

To take things seriously, or all in jest;

Whether, with grim Heraclitus of yore,

To weep, as he did, till his eyes were sore,

Or rather laugh with him, that queer philosopher,

Democritus of Thrace, who used to toss over

The page of life and grin at the dog-ears,

As though he'd say, "Why, who the devil cares?"

This is a question which, oh heaven, withdraw

The luckless query from a member's claw!

Instead of two sides, Job [Bob] has nearly eight,

Each fit to furnish forth four hours debate.

What shall be done? I'll lay it on the table,

And take the matter up when I'm more able,

And, in the meantime, to prevent all bother,

I'll neither laugh with one, nor cry with t'other,

Nor deal in flatt'ry or aspersions foul,

But, taking one by each hand, merely growl.

Ah, growl, say you, my friend, and pray at what?

Why, really, sir, I almost had forgot

But, damn it, sir, I deem it a disgrace

That things should stare us boldly in the face,

And daily strut the street with bows and scrapes,

Who would be men by imitating apes.

I beg your pardon, reader, for the oath

The monkeys make me swear, though something loth;

I'm apt to be discursive in my style,

But pray be patient; yet a little while

Will change me, and as politicians do,

I'll mend my manners and my measures too.

Of all the cities and I've seen no few;

For I have travelled, friend, as well as you

I don't remember one, upon my soul,

But take it generally upon the whole,

(As members say they like their logick [logic] taken,

Because divided, it may chance be shaken)

So pat, agreeable and vastly proper

As this for a neat, frisky counter-hopper;

Here he may revel to his heart's content,

Flounce like a fish in his own element,

Toss back his fine curls from their forehead fair,

And hop o'er counters with a Vester's air,

Complete at night what he began A.M.,

And having cheated ladies, dance with them;

For, at a ball, what fair one can escape

The pretty little hand that sold her tape,

Or who so cold, so callous to refuse

The youth who cut the ribbon for her shoes!

One of these fish, par excellence the beau

God help me! it has been my lot to know,

At least by sight, for I'm a timid man,

And always keep from laughing, if I can;

But speak to him, he'll make you such grimace,

Lord! to be grave exceeds the power of face.

The hearts of all the ladies are with him,

Their bright eyes on his Tom and Jerry brim

And dove-tailed coat, obtained at cost; while then

Those eyes won't turn on anything like men.

His very voice is musical delight,

His form, once seen, becomes a part of sight;

In short, his shirt collar, his look, his tone is

The "beau ideal" fancied for Adonis.

Philosophers have often held dispute

As to the seat of thought in man and brute;

For that the power of thought attends the latter

My friend, the beau, hath made a settled matter,

And spite of all dogmas, current in all ages,

One settled fact is better than ten sages.

For he does think, though I am oft in doubt

If I can tell exactly what about.

Ah, yes! his little foot and ankle trim,

'Tis there the seat of reason lies in him,

A wise philosopher would shake his head,

He then, of course, must shake his foot instead.

At me, in vengeance, shall that foot be shaken

Another proof of thought, I'm not mistaken

Because to his cat's eyes I hold a glass,

And let him see himself, a proper ass!

I think he'll take this likeness to himself,

But if he won't, he shall, a stupid elf,

And, lest the guessing throw the fool in fits,

I close the portrait with the name of PITTS.

TAMERLANE

The very rare first edition cover of Poes first book of poetry

TAMERLANE

KIND solace in a dying hour!

Such, father, is not (now) my theme

I will not madly deem that power

Of Earth may shrive me of the sin

Unearthly pride hath revell'd in

I have no time to dote or dream:

You call it hopethat fire of fire!

It is but agony of desire:

If I can hopeOh God! I can

Its fount is holiermore divine

I would not call thee fool, old man,

But such is not a gift of thine.

Know thou the secret of a spirit

Bow'd from its wild pride into shame.

O! yearning heart! I did inherit

Thy withering portion with the fame,

The searing glory which hath shone

Amid the jewels of my throne,

Halo of Hell! and with a pain