Edgar Allan Poe’s “An Enigma” is a sonnet-sized smirk. The speaker quotes a fool named Solomon Don Dunce, who sneers at typical love poems—calling them see-through fluff, as light as owl down, easier to see through than a Naples bonnet. A puff of wind, he jokes, could twist them into wrapping paper while you pretend to read. Then the tone flips: the speaker agrees that other poetry is just ephemeral bubbles, but this poem is different. It’s solid, opaque, immortal—because it secretly holds “dear names.” You can feel his self-satisfaction as he trash-talks Petrarchan sonnets, then presents his own as an indestructible riddle. The whole mood is wry and teasing, like a magician showing off a trick and daring you to figure it out. There’s no emotion here, just a clever game. The hidden names are likely an acrostic meant for a friend, turning the poem into a private wink inside a public form.
An Enigma — Summary
"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.