Romance

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 so say,
To lisp my every 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 tehy thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
      Though 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.

by Edgar Allan Poe