ALONE by Edgar Allen Poe (1829)

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—