If you like poetry, surely you know the poems of Edgar Allan Poe. He is one of the authors that is studied and read the most, despite his age.

For this reason, on this occasion we wanted to make a compilation of some of the best poems by Edgar Allan Poe. Do you want to take a look and see if we agree with you or if we discover you a new author?

Who was Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe was a writer, poet, journalist, and critic. He was born in Boston, United States, in 1809, and died in Baltimore, in 1849. He is recognized as one of the best authors of short stories, gothic novels, and horror, but he actually wrote in multiple genres.

His life was not very pleasant, especially since when he was still a child he had to live through the death of his parents. A wealthy Richmond couple took him in, but they didn’t formalize him as an adoption. He enrolled in the University of Virginia but only did a year since, after that, he enlisted in the army (he didn’t stay long).

Edgar Allan Poe ‘s first book was a book of poems titled Tamerlane and Other Poems , which he published in 1827.

Because he needed money, he decided to work writing in newspapers, in which he published stories, or literary criticism. This work was what propelled him to be known and gave him the notoriety he needed to continue with that career.

It was in 1845 when he published the most famous poem and one that most attracted the public to his pen, The Raven. However, the truth is that he has left us a fairly broad literary legacy in terms of stories (which we can find in different genres from macabre, detective, science fiction, satirical…); novels, poetry, essays, reviews…

On a personal level, Edgar Allan Poe married his cousin Virginia Clemm, who was 13 years old at the time, in 1835. However, she passed away from tuberculosis in 1847.

Two years later, in 1849, he too died, although the causes are not well known.

The best poems of Edgar Allan Poe

There are many poems by Edgar Allan Poe, because he was very prolific in that sense. But the truth is that, of all of them, there are some that stand out more than others.

Here we collect some of them.

The Raven


On a scary, restless night

reread an ancient tome

when i thought i heard

a strange noise, suddenly

as if someone gently touched

a mi puerta: «The impertinent visit

it is, I said and nothing more ».


oh! I remember very well; it was in winter

and impatient measured the eternal time

tired of searching

in books the beneficent calm

to the pain of my dead Leonora

who dwells with the angels now

for ever and ever!


I felt the silky and crackling and springy

brushing of the curtains, a fantastic

terrifying like never before

there was sense and I wanted that noise

explaining, my oppressed spirit

calm at last: «A lost traveler

it is, I said and nothing else ».


Already feeling calmer: «Sir

I exclaimed, oh lady, beg you I want

please excuse

but my attention was not wide awake

and your call was so uncertain…»

I then opened the door wide:

nothing more darkness


I look into space, I explore the darkness

and then I feel that my mind populates

mob of ideas which

no other mortal had them before

and listen with yearning ears

«Leonora» some whispering voices

whisper no more


I return to my room with a secret dread

and listen to the pale and restless

stronger hit;

“Something, I tell myself, knocks on my window,

understand I want the arcane sign

and calm this superhuman anguish »:

the wind and nothing else!


And the window opened: wallowing

I then saw a raven worshiping

like a bird of another age;

without further ceremony he entered my rooms

with stately gesture and black wings

and on a bust, on the lintel, of Pallas

perched and nothing else.


I look at the black bird, smiling

before his serious and serious continent

and I start to talk to him,

not without a hint of ironic intent:

“Oh raven, oh venerable anachronistic bird,

what is your name in the plutonic region? »

The raven said: “Never”.


In this case, the grotesque and rare pair

I was amazed to hear so clearly

such a name to pronounce

and I must confess that I was scared

Well, before nobody, I think, had the pleasure

of a raven to see, perched on a bust

with such a name: “Never”.


As if I had poured in that accent

the soul, the bird fell silent and not for a moment

the feathers moved already,

“Others of me have fled and it catches up with me

that he will leave tomorrow without delay

how hope has abandoned me »;

said the raven: “Never! »


A response to listening so clear

I told myself, not without secret concern,

“This is nothing more.

How much he learned from an unfortunate master,

whom fate has persecuted tenaciously

and for only refrain he has kept

that never, never! »


I rolled my seat until I was facing

of the door, of the bust and of the seer

raven and then already

reclining on the soft silk

I sank into fantastic dreams,

always thinking what to say

that never, never


I stayed like that for a long time

that strange ominous bird

endlessly looking,

he occupied the velvet divan

do together we sit and in my mourning

I thought that Ella, never on this floor

I would occupy it more.


Then it seemed to me the dense air

with the scent of burning incense

of an invisible altar;

and I hear fervent voices repeat:

“Forget Leonor, drink the nepenthes

drink oblivion in its lethal sources »;

said the raven: “Never! »


«Prophet, I said, augur of other ages

that threw the black storms

here for my bad,

guest of this abode of sadness,

Say, dark spawn of the dark night,

if there will be a balm at last to my bitterness »:

said the raven: “Never! »


«Prophet, I said, or devil, ill-fated raven

For God, for me, for my bitter pain,

by your fatal power

dime and some see of Leonora

I will see again in the eternal dawn

where happy with the cherubs dwells »;

said the raven: “Never! »


“Let such a word be the last

retorna a la plutonica rivera»

I screamed: “Don’t come back anymore,

don’t leave a trace, not a feather

and my spirit wrapped in dense mist

finally free the weight that overwhelms you! »

said the raven: “Never! »


And the motionless crow, funereal and grim

Always follow Pallas on the bust

and under my lantern,

casts a dingy stain on the carpet

and his demon gaze amazes…

Oh! My mourning soul from its shadow

will be released? Never!

(Translation by Carlos Arturo Torres)


Oh! The golden cup is broken! its essence disappeared

He went; he went! He went; he went!

Ring, ring bells, with mournful echoes,

That an immaculate soul floats on the river Styx.

And you, Guy de Vere, what have you made of your tears?

Ah, let them run!

Look, the narrow coffin that encloses your Lenore;

Listen to the funeral songs that the friar sings. Why did he die young?

Come to his side, come.

Let the death song be said

She was worthy to rule;

A funeral song to the one who lies inert,

Why did he die so young?

Cursed are those who loved in her only

the shapes of women,

Well, their native haughtiness imposed so much on you,

You let it die, when the fatal breach

It rested on his temple.

Who opens the rituals? Who will sing the Requiem?

I want to know, who?

You wretches with poisonous tongues

And basilisk eyes? They killed the beautiful one,

How beautiful it was!

Are we careful to sing? You sing at bad times

The Sabbath sing;

May his solemn accent rise to the lofty throne

Like a bitter sob that does not arouse anger

In which he sleeps in peace.

She, the beautiful, gentle Lenore,

He took flight at his first dawn;

She, your girlfriend, in deep loneliness

Orphan left you!

She, grace itself, now rests

In rigid stillness; in her hair

There is still life; more in his beautiful eyes

There is no life, no, no, no!

Behind! my heart beats fast

And in happy rhythm. Behind! I do not want

funeral songs

Because it’s useless now.

I will tend the flight and to the celestial space

I will throw myself into your noble company.

I’m going with you, my soul, yes, my soul!

And a pean I will sing to you!

Silence the bells! Its mournful echoes

Maybe they do it wrong.

Do not disturb the beatitude of a soul with your voices

That wanders over the world with mysterious calm

and in full freedom.

Respect for the soul that the earth ties

Triumphant unleashed;

That now luminous floating in the abyss

See friends and opposites; what of hell itself

into the sky he launched.

If the glass shattered, your eternal essence free

It will, it will!

be quiet, be quiet bells with mournful accents,

that his immaculate soul of heaven on the borders

Playing is!


Since the time of my childhood I have not been

as others were, I have not seen

as others saw, I could not bring

my passions of a simple spring.

From the same source I have not taken

my regret, I could not wake up

my heart to jubilation with the same tone;

And everything I loved, I loved Alone.

Then -in my childhood- at dawn

from the most stormy life, he took out

from every depth of good and bad

the mystery that still binds me:

From the torrent, or the source,

From the red cliff of the mountain,

Of the sun that revolved around me

in its autumn dyed with gold,

of lightning in the sky

when it flew past me,

Of thunder and storm,

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon before my sight.

the sleeper

It was midnight, in June, lukewarm, dark.

I was under a ray of the mystic moon,

that of its white disc like an enchantment

It poured over the valley a sleepy vapor.

The fragrant rosemary dozed in the tombs,

And to the lake the dying lily leaned,

And wrapped in the mist in the watery garment,

The ruins rested in ancient repose.

Behold! Also the lake like Lethe,

Doze in the shadows with a slow nod,

And he doesn’t want to wake up from conscious torpor

For the world around languidly dying

Sleep all beauty and see where it rests

Irene, sweetly, in delightful calm.

With the window open to the serene skies,

Of clear luminaries and full mysteries.

Oh, my gracious lady, don’t you feel terrified?

Why is your window open like this at night?

The playful airs from the leafy forest,

Laughing and lascivious in a noisy crowd

They flood your room and shake the curtain

From the bed where your beautiful head rests,

On the beautiful eyes with copious lashes,

After which the soul sleeps in strange regions,

Like gloomy ghosts, by the dream and the walls

The shadows of dark profiles slide.

Oh, my gracious lady, don’t you fear?

Tell me, what is the powerful charm of your reverie?

You must have come from the far seas

To this beautiful garden of secular trunks.

Strange are, woman, your paleness, your suit,

And from your long braids the floating homage;

But even stranger is the solemn silence

In which you wrap your mysterious and perennial dream.

The gentle lady sleeps. Sleep for the world!

Everything everlasting has to be deep.

Heaven has protected him under his sweet mantle,

Bartering this room for another that is holier,

And for another sadder, the bed in which he rests.

I pray to the Lord, that with a merciful hand,

I let her rest with undisturbed sleep,

While the deceased parade by his side.

She sleeps, my love. Oh, my soul desires you

That just as it is eternal, deep the dream is;

Let the vile worms creep softly

Around his hands and around his forehead;

That in the distant jungle, gloomy and centuries old,

They raise him a high grave quiet and lonely

Where they float to the wind, haughty and triumphant,

From his illustrious family the funeral cloths;

A distant grave, at whose strong gate

She threw stones, as a girl, without fear of death,

And from whose hard bronze no more sounds will start,

Nor the mournful echoes of such sad mansions

How sad to imagine poor daughter of sin.

That fateful sound at the ripped door,

And that perhaps with joy it would resound in your ear,

of terrifying death was the sad moan!

Annabel Lee

This is the last of Edgar Allan Poe’s poems, published after his death.

Many years ago

in a kingdom by the sea

lived a maiden you may know

named Annabel Lee.

And this maiden lived without another thought

to love me and be loved by me.

we were both children

in this kingdom by the sea

but we loved with a love that was more than love

me and my annabel lee

with love than the winged seraphs of heaven

they envied her and me.

And for this reason, long ago,

in this kingdom by the sea

a wind blew from a cloud

that chilled my love Annabel Lee.

And their highborn relatives came

and they took her away from me

to lock her in a sepulcher

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, discontented in heaven,

they envied her and me.

Yes! For this reason (as everyone knows

in this kingdom by the sea)

the wind came out of the cloud at night

para helar y matar a mi Annabel Lee.

But our love was so much stronger

than that of those older

or wiser than us.

And not even the angels up in the sky

nor the demons under the sea

They will never be able to separate my soul from the soul

from Hermosa Annabel Lee.

Well the moon never shines without bringing me dreams

from Hermosa Annabel Lee

and the stars never shine without me feeling the radiant eyes

from Hermosa Annabel Lee

And when the night tide comes I lie right next to

of my beloved -my beloved- my life and my fiancee

in his grave there by the sea

In his grave by the noisy sea.