“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 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.” LonelinessIsolationEdgar Allan Poe Poem Book:The Complete Poetry Source: The Complete Poetry
“The Poe Toaster by Stewart Stafford They call me The Poe Toaster, A sixty-year mourner, no boaster, With roses and cognac, I paid homage, To gothic Quarles’ eternal foggage. Some call me ghoul, stalker, graver, Obsessed fan, tombstone trader, Let him sleep unbroken, still his ghost, Tomahawk, overdue a tribute toast. Three roses; in-law, Eddy and wife, Cognac, exorbitant luxury in life, Relax, for I was kind, my friend, Pouring amontillado until the end. Why I stopped, if I'm woman or man, Are mysteries for C. Auguste Dupin, Shipwrecked on Night’s Plutonian shore, Allied with the silken darkness of yore. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.” MysteryGothicHomageGraveEdgar Allan PoeMournersEdgar Allen PoeEdgar Allan Poe QuotesEdgar Allan Poe PoemThe Poe Toaster Author:Stewart Stafford