Alone

By Edgar Allan Poe

It is October, and so we better read some Poe. Below is one of my favorite poems from Edgar Allan (I call him Edgar Allan, because he seems like he needs a friend). This poem is a shortie, so take your time, read it through a few times. Grab pen and paper and consider what Poe, er, Edgar Allan is doing and why. I am fairly certain you have heard of him and so I do not need to have an introduction to E. A. P. He is a mysterious figure. His life and death are shrouded in obscurity. In a fitting way, his literature matched his demise. To the poem…

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 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—

You can listen to an excellent reading of this poem here.