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ALONE. 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 lov’d—I lov’d alone—
     Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
     Of a most stormy life—was drawn
     From ev’ry 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 pass’d 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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