Edgar Allan Poe ( 10 of 30 )
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not read more
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 loved, I loved alone.
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not read more
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I have great faith in fools--self-confidence my friends call it.
I have great faith in fools--self-confidence my friends call it.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term art, I should call it "the Reproduction of what the read more
Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term art, I should call it "the Reproduction of what the senses perceive in nature through the veil of the mist
Reality is the #1 cause of insanity among those who are in contact with it
Reality is the #1 cause of insanity among those who are in contact with it
With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.
With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells
read more
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden notes,
And all in tune
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens while she gloats
On the moon!
Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.
Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.
