Alone

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.