Happy Birthday, Mr. Poe

Today is the birthday of the mysterious Edgar Allan Poe, who dominated the Romantic period with his tales of horror and his surprisingly lovely poetry. It wasn't Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes, but Poe's Auguste Dupin who became the archetype for the classical fictional detective, so naturally Poe deserves much honor in mystery circles.

However, it's not "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" that I'd like to pay homage to today, but one of my favorite poems by Poe.

To Helen (1831)

Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, wayworn 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!

--Edgar Allan Poe

(image: http://valencia.nueva-acropolis.es/images/poe.JPG)