Alone by Edgar Allan Poe (1829)
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 —
narrated by Tom O'Bedlam and made by Word Nourishment
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