January 19, 1809

Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 to October 7, 1849) died a few years after his wife. In this period of turmoil and grief, there were still scenes where Poe could write successfully. One such is recorded by:

'An English lady .... at the little cottage in Fordham in the early autumn of 1847 ... described to us with a truly English appreciativeness its unrivalled neatness and the quaint simplicity of its interior and surroundings. It was at the time bordered by a flower garden whose clumps of rare dahlias and brilliant beds of autumnal flowers showed in the careful culture bestowed upon them the fine floral taste of the inmates. Our English friend described the poet ... as giving to his birds and his flowers a delighted attention that seemed quite inconsistent with the gloomy and grotesque character of his writings. A favourite cat too, enjoyed his friendly patronage, and often when he was engaged in composition it seated itself on his shoulder purring as if in complacent approval of the work proceeding under its supervision.'

This quote is found in Edgar Allan Poe: His Life, Letters, and Opinions (1886), a volume which lists as authors, John Henry Ingram, and Edgar Allan Poe.

October 7, 1849

The story of Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 to October 7, 1849) and his devotion to his wife has been told before, but we have below a first hand account by one who knew them during his wife's last days. We cite Mary Gove-Nichols, and her “Reminiscences of Edgar Allan Poe,” as recorded in
The  Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, volume 1.
'The autumn came, and Mrs. Poe sank rapidly in consumption,... I saw her in her bed-chamber. Everything here was so neat, so purely clean, so scant and poverty-stricken, that I saw the poor sufferer with such a heart-ache. . . . There was no clothing on the bed, which was only straw, but a snow-white counterpane and sheets. The weather was cold, and the sick lady had the dreadful chills that accompany the hectic fever of consumption. She lay on the straw-bed, wrapped in her husband’s great-coat, with a large tortoise-shell cat in her bosom. The wonderful cat seemed conscious of her great usefulness. The coat and the cat were the sufferer’s only means of warmth... as her husband held her hands, and her mother her feet.'

To continue the story:

'Mrs. Gove, who visited the Poe family in October, found them in destitute circumstances, and with a view of rendering aid introduced Mrs. M. L. Shew,... and a contribution of sixty dollars was raised... Mrs. Shew had proven the ministering angel to the household [by providing a feather bed, for one thing.] She was in constant attendance, and Poe in his gratitude wrote her a number of letters. He also wrote her two poems....'

How Poe himself died in a few more years is not at all clear to historians.