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[Text: Edgar Allan Poe, "To M" (E), The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, vol. II, 1850, p. 51.]

[page 51:]

     TO  .

I HEED not that my earthly lot
    Hath little of Earth in it
That years of love have been forgot
    In the hatred of a minute :
I mourn not that the desolate
    Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
    Who am a passer by.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

[S:1 - Works, 1850]