by 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 srping.
From the same source I have not taken
my sorrow; I could not awaken
my heart to joy at he 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.
