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—