Edgar Allen Poe
|I dwelt alone
In a world of moan
And my soul was a stagnant tide
fair and gentle Eulalie
Ah, less-- less bright
the stars of night
Than the eyes of the radiant girl!
That the vapor can make
With the moon-tints of purple
Can vie with the modest Eulalie's
unregarded curl -
Now Doubt - now Pain
For her soul gives me sigh for sigh
And all day long
Shines, bright and strong,
Astarte within the sky,
to her dear Eulalie
upturns her matron eye
upturns her violet eye.
is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh,
When I am sad and
weary. When I think all hope has gone.
When I walk along High Holborn,
I think of you with nothing on .
have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont