Edgar Alan Poe

January 19, 1809 Boston Massachusetts
October 7, 1849 Baltimore Maryland

He was the second child of two actors. His father left in 1810 and his mother died a year later. He was taken in by John and Frances Allan though they never formally adopted him. Tensions grew between Poe and John over Poe's education. Poe went to the University of Virginia. He soon enlisted to the army under a alias. He wanted to become a poet, which John did not like, and left home. He married his 13 year old cousin, Virginia Clemm, and lived a short life to the age of 40. Nobody knows how he died but some suspected causes are, suicide, rabies, drugs, cholera, and many others.

Poe's Career as a poet started with anonymous collections to a publisher. He started writing for literary journals and other writing jobs. He planned for years to write his own journal, though he died before it could be finished. He started to become well known after his poem "the raven" was published.

In the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once fair and stately palace --
Radiant palace --reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion --
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow;
(This --all this --was in the olden
Time long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odour went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne, where sitting
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate;
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
And, round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh --but smile no more.
-Edgar Allan Poe

This poem talks about colors in such a vivid way. It gives you a creepy, eerie feeling which is sometimes wanted.