Edgar+Allen+Poe

**Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American author, poet, editor and literary critic, considered part of the American Romantic Movement Best known for his tales of mystery** **and the macabre. Poe was one of the earliest American practitioners of the short story and is considered the inventor of the detective-fiction genre. He is further credited with contributing to the emerging genre of science fiction. He was the first well-known American writer to try to earn a living through writing alone, resulting in a financially difficult life and career.** **He was born as Edgar Poe in Boston Massachussettes; he was orphaned young when his mother died shortly after his father abandoned the family. Poe was taken in by John and Frances Allan, of Richmond, Virginia but they never formally adopted him. He attended the University of Virginia for one semester but left due to lack of money. After enlisting in the army** **and later failing as an officer's cadet at West Point, Poe parted ways with the Allans. His publishing carreer** **began humbly, with an anonymous collection of poems, //Tamerlane and Other Poems// (1827), credited only to "a Bostonian".** **Poe switched his focus to prose and spent the next several years working for literary journals and periodicals, becoming known for his own style of literary criticism. His work forced him to move between several cities, including Baltimore, Philadelphia , and New York City. In Baltimore in 1835, he married Virginia Clemm, his 13-year-old cousin. In January 1845 Poe published his poem " The Raven " to instant success. His wife died of tuberculosis two years after its publication. He began planning to produce his own journal, //The Penn// (later renamed //The Stylus// ), though he died before it could be produced. On October 7, 1849, at age 40, Poe died in Baltimore; the cause of his death is unknown.**  ==Edgar Allan Poe== =A Dream= code In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream, While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night, So trembled from afar- What could there be more purely bright In Truth's day-star? code 