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—
We all start incdividual consciousness from a different point. Poe is so unlike myself- the dark and the black and the cold and weary, miserable and dreary views and stories....he makes me realize the Balance between rainbows and dungeons. And how people's minds start from one or the other, grow up in one or the other and then adapt as they continue life in either that they spend more time in. But, the very beginning of life- maybe it is always with us.
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