Poetry Month

...remember, I started late...

To Helen
by Edgar Allan Poe

Helen, thy beauty is to me
   Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfum'd 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 beauty of fair Greece,
And the grandeur of old Rome.


Lo, in that little window-niche
   How statue-like I see thee stand,
   The agate lamp within thy hand,
Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
   Are holy land!

Dude, get a life. Really.