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9.1
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(364
votes)
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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.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every 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 rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed 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.
Edgar Allan Poe
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Read poems about / on: childhood, autumn, sorrow, spring, red, joy, heaven, alone, sky, sun, heart, life, passion
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Comments about this poem (Alone
by
Edgar Allan Poe
) |
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comments about this poem (Alone by
Edgar Allan Poe
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Jack Williams
(10/11/2009 6:52:00 PM) |
Why is it so much easier for disturbed people to write great poetry? !
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Almedia Knight
(9/27/2009 1:02:00 PM) |
Poe's childood seems to be the undercurrent of 'Alone.'l-his mother dying and being abandoned by his father- and raised by others, 'not being as others' his 'passion couldn't come from a common spring' All he love., he loved alone. Poe, in the dawn of a most stormy life was drawn form the depth of his childhood experiences-of good and ill were the mystery which binds him still: the torrent of the fountain; red cliff mountain; (fresh perception) of the sun that round me rolled in its autumn tint of gold-the lightining and thunder passed him by. He couldn't escape his childhood memories even in observing nature for it has its own goods and ills, even the cloud was in the form of a childs mind. Thanks Edgar A, for sharing the light and dark sides of humanity.
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Seema Gupta
(9/24/2009 3:08:00 AM) |
'great emotional words to read'
regards
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Justin Greene
(8/29/2009 3:26:00 PM) |
such a great poem, its y only fav ^_^
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Lee Crowell
(6/9/2009 2:20:00 PM) |
a very troubled man with the writing talent of a genius
if there hadn't been such a vast closet of demons in his life his subject matter of course would have been more lighthearted, and possibly a lot less interesting for us
he is a classic example of everyone else gaining something from his own misery
wish I could have known him, but then again he might not have been capable of friendship
thanks Edgar for showing us what the capabilities are
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Kevin Straw
(6/9/2009 5:45:00 AM) |
The child is father to the man - I quote from Wikipedia:
'His father abandoned their family in 1810, and his mother died a year later from consumption. Poe was then taken into the home of John Allan, a successful Scottish merchant in Richmond, Virginia. John Allan alternately spoiled and aggressively disciplined his foster son.'
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JOE POEWHIT
(6/9/2009 2:06:00 AM) |
Poe reaching into the bosom of the soul. Putting forth all the words, like clouds in a storm of life. Then the eye of the storm the demon, that he described as being alone.
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S H
(5/9/2009 6:28:00 PM) |
What is really interesting is that Edgar wasn't really a drunkard. It was a myth perpetuated by his rival journalists. They tried to discredit him because of their jealousy over his sharp wit, amazing writing ability and quick rise in journalistic importance during his time. Plus he was quite charming with the ladies and some of those ladies happen to be the other writers wives.
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