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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