Alone
Author: Edgar Allan
Poe
From 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.
