Baltimore City is stopping funds for the Edgar Allen Poe House. This will greatly affect tourism. Funding is used to celebrate Poe's works, Birthday and keeps his final resting place(Westminster Church) open to the public. Many people from around the world travel to Baltimore just to visit the grave of Mr. Poe. He is a legend. This will not be fair to his fãs or to anyone else who come to admire the wonderful little cemetery and church.
People do not just go to this city for the Inner Harbor or go to a sporting event. They come to see Poe. They want to see the início where he lived his last days and visit his grave. Did Baltimore city forget there is a football team named after one of his famous works?
This decision should be reconsidered if you want to keep tourism booming in Baltimore City.
Please sign petition below;
link
People do not just go to this city for the Inner Harbor or go to a sporting event. They come to see Poe. They want to see the início where he lived his last days and visit his grave. Did Baltimore city forget there is a football team named after one of his famous works?
This decision should be reconsidered if you want to keep tourism booming in Baltimore City.
Please sign petition below;
link
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 por 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 mais purely bright
In Truth's day-star?
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 por 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 mais purely bright
In Truth's day-star?
'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And mais I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And mais I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.