The Materialistic Maiden

Where I sip coffee and judge everyone.

Category: edgar allan poe

Poems Attributed to Poe (that aren’t his.)

Earlier this afternoon, I discovered some poems of Poe’s that I had never read!

Actually, the iPhone app “Time Hop” oh so kindly took me back to a Facebook status where I had quoted a Poe poem called “The Village Street.” Not recognizing the poem, I immediately did a search to see where in the name of Davy Jones I had found this poem. Upon finding the poem in question, I found three others which were attributed to Poe, all listed on this website. Being that they were unsigned by his name, and after reading through them, I became skeptical and went to researching the man (or woman) behind the name of A. M. Ide.

As I read through the poems, they seemed to resemble Poe’s flourishing language…a watered down version of his language, with great redundancy, mind you. The rhythm seemed off to me as well, so I thought surely these couldn’t be his poems!

It was a tricky investigation, as bits of certain poems honestly do resemble Poe’s style, if even a little. “The Village Street” reminded me of imagery found in “Ulalume.” “The Forest Reverie” had meter which seemed reminiscent of Poe’s style. “Annette” struck me as being just another poem written for some other love interest in Edgar’s life (or even a coverup name for Osgood, as the poem was written in 1845, around the time he would have had the tryst with Osgood). And it was through this poem that I found my answers.

Certain words and a particular line in the poem led me on to investigating in my “Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe” book by Thomas Ollive Mabbott. The descriptions of “violet eyes” and the specific line, “Of the golden-haired–the violet-eyed,” reminded me of Poe’s “Eulalie,” being the line, “Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride,” and the line, “While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.” Consulting the book, I found the explanation that Mabbott gave in regards to the origin of the poem and who it may have been written for. Interestingly enough, there is a theory that the name Eulalie was inspired by a poem called “Isadore,” by Albert Pike, which begins with descriptions of vines. Looking back at the poem “To Isadore,” which was supposedly ascribed to Poe, there is great imagery involving vines, which occur in the first few lines, as it also did in the first few lines of Pike’s poem.

Surely, thought I, surely “To Isadore” must be Poe’s poem! Not too long after this connection did I see a footnote in the back, leading me to a page with a brief explanation of these four specific poems. This is where my skepticism rang true. “Four poems signed ‘A. M. Ide’ were published in the Broadway Journal in 1845. John H. Ingram thought ‘A. M. Ide’ might be a pen name of Poe, and reprinted three of these four poems as possibly Poe’s in The Complete Poetical Works…of Edgar Allan Poe (1888)–but Abijah M. Ide was a young New Englander who corresponded with Poe…” and thus these are his poems (Mabbott 509).

And there we go. The mystery has been solved, and Poe truly did not write these poems. What irks me is the number of eBooks and Poe anthologies that came up in my search who are including these poems in their collections, falsely claiming the poems as Poe’s. Before assuming things like this, please, please do your research.


Nevermore: The Imaginary Life and Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe

This musical is an absolute gem, let me tell you.

Although I do not know the plot (I surmise it is about his life) this musical looks absolutely fantastic and fascinating. From the gothic, Tim Burton-esque costumery to the quirky choreography and witty lines, this musical is sure to be a sight to behold.

I only wish I could have the chance to see it….If anyone has connections, please hook me up? I will adore you forever.

Seriously though, this musical appears to be the most accurate musical out of the ones I have seen/heard of. (Don’t pay mind to Woolfson’s, it’s bizarre and chronologically inaccurate, not to mention…well, we’ll say that he took entirely to creative liberties when making his musical.)

Nevermore has traveled, from what I’ve read, to Canada, New York City, and London, most recently being performed in Canada between February 15th and March 2nd(?) of this year. I am highly, HIGHLY disappointed that I missed it. There’s always next time. (I don’t live in Canada, however I would have found a way to get there, darn it!)

Here are some clips from the show, please enjoy:

From the Beginning

Edgar Met Elmira


Interview with the actor who portrayed Edgar

A Clip from Edmonton Press (best clip in my opinion)

As a side note, I want to say that one thing I particularly enjoy about this musical, from what I’ve seen, is that they accurately portray, and ACTUALLY portray in general, Henry, Poe’s brother. I have never witnessed another musical that has integrated Henry as a character. Bravo, Nevermore, bravo.

Happy Birthday, My Dearest Edgar Allan Poe

Today marks Edgar Allan Poe’s 205th Birthday. I am so proud and delighted that his legacy continues to live on. He has made such a mark on the world and my heart, and I am grateful each day to have discovered this incredible writer and poet.

We love you, Edgar. May you continue on for all of eternity as one of the greatest writers alive.

Now, to share a couple of his poems that I’ve held dear for over ten years-

“The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere –
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year:
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir –
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through and alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul –
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll –
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole –
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere –
Our memories were treacherous and sere, –
For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!) –
We noted not the dim lake of Auber
(Though once we had journeyed down here) –
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn –
As the star-dials hinted of morn –
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn –
Astarte’s bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said: “She is warmer than Dian;
She rolls through an ether of sighs –
She revels in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion
To point us the path to the skies –
To the Lethean peace of the skies –
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes –
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes.”

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said: “Sadly this star I mistrust –
Her pallor I strangely mistrust:
Ah, hasten! -ah, let us not linger!
Ah, fly! -let us fly! -for we must.”
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust –
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dust –
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied: “This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sybilic splendour is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty tonight! –
See! -it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright –
We safely may trust to a gleaming,
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.”

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom –
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tomb –
By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said: “What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?”
She replied: “Ulalume -Ulalume –
‘Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!”

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere –
As the leaves that were withering and sere;
And I cried: “It was surely October
On this very night of last year
That I journeyed -I journeyed down here! –
That I brought a dread burden down here –
On this night of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon hath tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber –
This misty mid region of Weir –
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.”


Annabel Lee
A Dream Within A Dream
The Raven
To the River

The Masque of the Red Death: a Fantastic Short-Film Adaptation That Everyone Should Watch

When scouring the internet for Edgar Allan Poe film adaptations to watch, because that is what I do in my spare time/when I’m bored, I came across this beauty,

Part One
Part Two

It is quite short, but the cinematography is beautifully done and the ending gave me quite the, ehm, scare, which does not happen usually to me.

Please enjoy, my friends.

“And darkness and decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all”-Edgar Allan Poe, The Masque of the Red Death

Let Me Tell You All About Mrs. Poe

So, I’m almost certain that most of you who are reading this post know of the writer Edgar Allan Poe, and that, knowing him, you know he married his cousin. (I promise, this wasn’t weird back then.) In this blogpost, I’m going to share some photos, a poem, and other tidbits about her. She deserves more appreciation.

Virginia Clemm was born in August of 1822 to Maria Clemm. The young spritely girl married her first cousin, Edgar, when she was 13 and he 27. What amazes me about this is that she was able to pass as being “21” so they could legally marry. I’m convinced that the man who married them was on drugs. I mean, take a look at the portrait below and tell me that you think she looks 21:


Here’s a colored version, closer up:


Alright, perhaps she looks a bit older for her age. But it still amazes me. I digress.

Virginia was known to be a kind soul who enjoyed singing (she was a soprano). I read up that  she was seven years of age when she first met Edgar, after his discharge from the army. Poe moved in with the family in 1833, four years after the two first met, however they would not become smitten with one another until 1835. During this time, Poe was crushing on another woman, Mary Devereaux, and Virginia was their messenger. The romance with Virginia really started sparking when she was supposed to be sent off to live with their cousin Neilson, so that she may receive a good education. Emotional and flustered, Edgar wrote a rather melodramatic  heartbreaking letter pleading to not have Virginia leave him. During this time, he had moved out of the household to Richmond, Virginia, however upon hearing this planned to move back in. This would be the ultimate move to lead Poe to marry his cousin. They married May 16th, 1836, and the rest was history from there, until her death of tuberculosis in 1847, at the age of 24. (Coincidentally, Edgar Poe’s mother, brother, and foster-mother all died at the age of 24 as well.)

Now, on to some more uplifting matters.

Here’s a poem I found that she’d written for Edgar:

“Ever with thee I wish to roam —
Dearest my life is thine.
Give me a cottage for my home
And a rich old cypress vine,
Removed from the world with its sin and care
And the tattling of many tongues.
Love alone shall guide us when we are there —
Love shall heal my weakened lungs;
And Oh, the tranquil hours we’ll spend,
Never wishing that others may see!
Perfect ease we’ll enjoy, without thinking to lend
Ourselves to the world and its glee —
Ever peaceful and blissful we’ll be.”

Here’s a photocopy of the original:


And now, I will end with a few more portraits/a photograph I had found of Virginia:




(Here are the links citing where I got the photos and information in this blogpost:

In Which I Express My Adoration For Edgar Allan Poe

Seriously, it is very strong.

Extremely, extremely strong. I mean


look at this man. Isn’t he the epitome of perfection? 

(If you save the pictures, or whatever, the links to where I got them are the photo description. So I’m properly sourcing these in a way. Don’t antagonize me.)

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