[
  {
    "title": "An Enigma",
    "author": "Edgar Allan Poe",
    "lines": [
      "\"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."
    ],
    "linecount": "14"
  }
]