I have dreamed of joy departed–
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream–that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam,
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro’ storm and night,
So trembled from afar–
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth’s day star?
Edgar Allan Poe
January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849
Born in Boston, Massachusetts, poet, short-story writer, editor and literary critic, and is considered part of the American Romantic Movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre, Poe was one of the earliest American practitioners of the short story and is considered the inventor of the detective-fiction genre. He is further credited with contributing to the emerging genre of science fiction. He was the first well-known American writer to try to earn a living through writing alone, resulting in a financially difficult life and career.
Every January 19, in the early hours of the morning, an unknown visitor affectionately referred to as the "Poe Toaster" makes a toast of cognac to Poe’s original grave marker and leaves three roses.