Poe's Poetry

Poems of Later Life: An Enigma

"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,

"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.

Through all the flimsy things we see at once

As easily as through a Naples bonnet -

Trash of all trash! - how 'can' a lady don it?

Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff -

Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff

Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it."

And, veritably, Sol is right enough.

The general tuckermanities are arrant

Bubbles - ephemeral and 'so' transparent -

But 'this is', now - you may depend upon it -

Stable, opaque, immortal - all by dint

Of the dear names that lie concealed within't.

[See note after previous poem.]