From childhoods 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 Fom 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 rounded me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightening 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.
By Edgar Alan Poe
Email: devilishjess@msn.com