Read To Mary in a locally preserved historical transcription. Historical poem text from Southern Literary Messenger, July 1835, volume I, page 636. This is the early poem later retitled To Frances, distinct from To F—s S. O—d. Verse-line boundaries are retained with simplified typography. The record supplies a local electronic reading, not a magazine-page scan. Modern website commentary is omitted.
New-only intake checked against existing titles, source identities and file fingerprints. Historical poem text from Southern Literary Messenger, July 1835, volume I, page 636. This is the early poem later retitled To Frances, distinct from To F—s S. O—d. Verse-line boundaries are retained with simplified typography. The record supplies a local electronic reading, not a magazine-page scan. Modern website commentary is omitted.
Original publication
To Mary
Date
1835-07
Credits
Edgar Allan Poe
Publisher
Southern Literary Messenger
Published in
Richmond, Virginia
Reference collection
Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore (historical periodical transcription)
Heading, opening and closing boundaries checked. Modern web navigation and notes omitted. Historical text has not been independently proofread word by word.
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Historical poem text from Southern Literary Messenger, July 1835, volume I, page 636. This is the early poem later retitled To Frances, distinct from To F—s S. O—d. Verse-line boundaries are retained with simplified typography. The record supplies a local electronic reading, not a magazine-page scan. Modern website commentary is omitted.
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Local historical reading text
Reading transcription · Review label: Known limitations
To Mary
Historical poem text from Southern Literary Messenger, July 1835, volume I, page 636. This is the early poem later retitled To Frances, distinct from To F—s S. O—d. Verse-line boundaries are retained with simplified typography. The record supplies a local electronic reading, not a magazine-page scan. Modern website commentary is omitted.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
TO MARY.
Mary, amid the cares — the woes
Crowding around my earthly path,
(Sad path, alas! where grows
Not ev’n one lonely rose,)
My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of sweet repose.
And thus thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle,
In some tumultuous sea —
Some lake beset as lake can be
With storms — but where, meanwhile,
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.
E. A. P.