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by Edgar Allen 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 
Are the stars of night 
Than the eyes of the radiant girl! 
And never a flake 
That the vapor 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, 
Astarte 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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Poem ID: 70373   Poem Posted: 4/12/2002
Viewed: 169043  Voted On: 1020  E-mailed: 205  Commented On: 0
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