From childhood's hour I've not been
As other were - I've not seen
As others saw - I coild not bring
My passions from a common spring -
From the same source I've not taken
My sorrow - I could not awaken
My heart to joy in the same tone -
And all I loved - I loved alone -
Thou - in my childhood - in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From evry 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 roll'd
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.
Edgar Allan Poe
This is a poem of poems, burning with passion and longing. I love it, even if Poe sometimes is a little TOO much melancholy for me. And I think he got it slightly wrong...
There are more Strangers in the world. This does not in any way diminish the poem. Every witch or rebel feel lonely while growing up. Strangers are rare, but in the world as a whole we are many...
TO THE WILD LIFE
DISHES ARE SERVED HOT!
First uploaded 01-04-1998
100. Night 12053
Third year in the time of The Crimson Tide.