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Romance By Edgar Allan Poe |
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Romance, who loves to nod and sing, With drowsy head and folded wing, Among the green leaves as they shake Far down within some shadowy lake, To me a painted paroquet Hath been — a most familiar bird — Taught me my alphabet to say — To lisp my very earliest word While in the wild wood I did lie, A child — with a most knowing eye. Of late, eternal Condor years So shake the very Heaven on high With tumult as they thunder by, I have no time for idle cares Through gazing on the unquiet sky. And when an hour with calmer wings Its down upon my spirit flings — That little time with lyre and rhyme To while away — forbidden things! My heart would feel to be a crime Unless it trembled with the strings. | |||||||||||||
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