From childhood's hour I have not been <br /> As others were; I have not seen <br /> As others saw; I could not bring <br /> My passions from a common spring. <br /> From the same source I have not taken <br /> My sorrow; I could not awaken <br /> My heart to joy at the same tone; <br /> And all I loved, I loved alone. <br /> Then- in my childhood, in the dawn <br /> Of a most stormy life- was drawn <br /> From every depth of good and ill <br /> The mystery which binds me still: <br /> From the torrent, or the fountain, <br /> From the red cliff of the mountain, <br /> From the sun that round me rolled <br /> In its autumn tint of gold, <br /> From the lightning in the sky <br /> As it passed me flying by, <br /> From the thunder and the storm, <br /> And the cloud that took the form <br /> (When the rest of Heaven was blue) <br /> Of a demon in my view. <br /> <br /> Edgar Allen Poe<br /><br />Fred Babbin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/alone-510/
