EULALIE — A SONG.

BY EDGAR A. 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

The stars of the night

Than the eyes of the radiant girl,

And never a flake

That the vapor can make

With the morn-tints [[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,

While all day long

Shines, bright and strong,

Astarté within the sky,

And ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye —

And ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.