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 thy 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.
Credits
Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) was an American poet, short story writer, and critic, celebrated for his mastery of atmosphere, gothic imagery, and psychological depth. "Romance" is among his earlier lyric poems, first published in 1829, and offers a rare glimpse of Poe reflecting tenderly on the origins of his own poetic imagination before the darker pressures of his life took hold.
