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by Edgar Allan Poe
  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–
  _Thou_–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 roll’d
  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.

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