❝i saw thee once - once only - years ago:
i must not say how many - but not many.
it was a july midnight; and from out
a full-orbed moon, that like thine own soul, soaring,
sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,
there fell a silvery-silken veil of light,
with quietude, and sultriness, and slumber,
upon the upturned faces of a thousand
roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe -
fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses
that gave out, in return for the love-light,
their odorous souls in an ecstatic death -
fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses
that smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted
by thee, and by the poetry of thy presence.❞
              - to helen, edgar allan poe