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dissenting take: idk, i find his poetry kinda basic compared to a lot of the old stuff i've read. when byron goes dark, he goes vividly dark; when dickinson contemplates, her every word oozes meaning; when whitman emotes, he nearly drowns the reader. poe is too meh as a poet for me. not as a short story writer, though, probably because he has more freedom to dive into the macabre there
So, Poe is expressing the melancholy which emerges from his loneliness: nobody understands him because he likes different things. However, that does not mean the entire poem is void of optimism, as in the final line the emphasis on I in "I lov'd alone", shows that he does find some joy in his isolation because he can experience the things he ...
482 votes, 24 comments. true. I have known E.A.Poe as a writer of horror but not deeply as a poet.In a writing challenge I wrote a story 'The BlackBundle' it had elements of mystery and magic.One of the feedback comment was "very Edgar Allen Poe like" by Elizabeth Strehl one of the gracious readers and a writer herself.
“Alone” BY EDGAR ALLAN POE 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—
Poe had me in a Thrall his whole damn time hahah. Frost is such a wonderfully peaceful poet to read! What a great introduction. Hilariously, he's been the poet through which my love of poetry was reignited, AND reinvented. First through 'Birches', then through 'For Once, then, Something'.
I found the original wallpaper on wallbase.cc. The text is from the poem "Alone" by Edgar Allen Poe. You can read it here.
Alone by Edgar Allan Poe youtu. upvotes r/Poetry. r/Poetry. A place for sharing published poetry. For ...
Posted by u/alyosha_kara - 42 votes and 3 comments
And all I loved -- I loved 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
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 ...