Alone

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—




BY EDGAR ALLEN POE