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.

~ Edgar Allan Poe

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