Edgar Allan Poe

                            I DWELT alone
                            In a world of moan,
                And my soul was a stagnant tide,
Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride—
Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.
                            Ah, less—less bright
                            The stars of the night
                Than the eyes of the radiant girl!
                            And never a flake
                            That the vapour can make
                With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,
Can vie with the modest Eulalie’s most unregarded curl—
Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie’s most humble and careless curl.
                            Now Doubt—now Pain
                            Come never again,
                For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,
                            And all day long
                            Shines, bright and strong,
                Astarté within the sky,
While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye—
While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.

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