Romance
Romance, who loves to nod and sing
With drowsy head and folded wing
Among 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 sahke the very Heaven on high
With tulmult 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.
-Edgar Allan Poe
