FORDHAM MANOR 151 



where he spent some of his most gloomy hours. It was there, also, 

 that he lost his wife, Virginia, whom he had married when she 

 was barely thirteen years old. Poe's devotion to his child-wife 

 was one of the most beautiful features of his life, and many of 

 his famous poetic productions were inspired by her. She was but 

 twenty-five when she died. 



It was in this cottage, too, that Poe poured forth his amatory 

 effusions to Mrs. Sarah Helen Whitman, the Rhode Island poetess, 

 sixteen years his senior. These passionate love epistles were writ- 

 ten two years after the death of his wife, Virginia, and within a 

 few months of his own death, and they culminated in a promise of 

 marriage. The engagement was broken off on the eve of marriage 

 by the interference of friends. 



The following extracts from Poe's letters to his betrothed in- 

 dicate his warmth of affection. 



"Fordham, Sunday night, Oct. 1, 1848. 



I have pressed your letter again and again to my lips, sweetest Helen — 

 bathing it in tears of joy, or of divine despair! ..." 



"The mere thought that your dear fingers would press — your sweet eyes 

 dwell upon characters which had welled out upon the paper from the depths 

 of so devout a love — filled my soul with a rapture which seemed then all- 

 sufficient for my human nature. . . ." 



"If ever, then, I dared to picture for myself a richer happiness, it was 

 always connected with your image in Heaven. 



"As you entered the room ... I felt . . . the existence of spiritual 

 influences ... I saw that you were Helen — my Helen — the Helen of a 

 thousand dreams — she whose visionary lips had so often lingered upon my own 

 in the divine trance of passion — she whom the great Giver of all Good pre- 

 ordained to be mine — mine only — if not now, alas ! then at least hereafter and 

 forever in the heavens. . . . Your hand rested in mine and my whole soul 

 shook with a tremulous ecstasy. ..." 



"You are aware, sweet Helen, that on my part there are insuperable 

 reasons forbidding me to urge upon you my love. Were I not poor — had not 

 my late errors and excesses justly lowered me in the esteem of the good — were 

 I wealthy, or could I offer you worldly honors— ah, then — then — how proud 

 would I be to persevere — to sue — to plead — to pray — to beseech you for your 

 love — in the deepest humility — at you feet — at you feet, Helen, and with 

 floods of passionate tears! . . ." 



