Sunday, 27 June 2010

by: Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
      rom childhood's hour I have not been
      As others were; I have not seen
      As others saw; I could not bring
      My passions from a common spring.
      From the same source I have not taken
      My sorrow; I could not awaken
      My heart to joy at the same tone;
      And all I loved, I loved alone.
      Then--in my childhood, in the dawn
      Of a most stormy life--was drawn
      From every depth of good and ill
      The mystery which binds me still:
      From the torrent, or the fountain,
      From the red cliff of the mountain,
      From the sun that round me rolled
      In its autumn tint of gold,
      From the lightning in the sky
      As it passed me flying by,
      From the thunder and the storm,
      And the cloud that took the form
      (When the rest of Heaven was blue)
      Of a demon in my view

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