'An Enigma' by Edgar Allan Poe

Poetry

An Enigma

Edgar Allan Poe (1848)

“Seldom we find,” says Solomon Don Dunce, “Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet — Trash of all trash! — how can a lady don it? Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff — Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it.” And, veritably, Sol is right enough. The general tuckermanities are arrant Bubbles — ephemeral and so transparent — But this is, now, — you may depend upon it — Stable, opaque, immortal — all by dint Of the dear names that lie concealed within ’t. (The name concealed in the poem is “Sarah Anna Lewis,” formed from the first letter of the first line, the second letter of the second line, the third letter of the third line, and so on, highlighted here in boldface to make the concealed visible.)


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