Eulalie

by Edgar Allan 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
Are the stars of night
Than the eyes of the radiant girl!
And never a flake
That the vapor can make
With the moon-tints of purple and
pearl,
Can vie with the modest Eulalie’s
most unregarded curl-
Can compare with the bright-eyed
Eulalie’s
Now Doubt– now Pain
Come never again,
For her soul gives me sigh for sigh
And all day long
Shines, bright and strong,
Astarte within the sky,
While ever to her dear Eulalie
upturns her matron eye-
While ever to her young Eulalie
upturns her violet eye.
Rhyme Scheme
 the ordered pattern of
rhymes at the ends of the
lines of a poem or verse.
Theme
experience that can sometimes occur
when we truly and deeply love another
person. This experience goes beyond
simple companionship and comfort,
and involves a wondrous appreciation
for another human being that far
exceeds the meaning and intensity that
we are accustomed to in our everyday
lives. This unequal intensity, is what
Poe is best at in verse. In so many of
his poems, he captures a love so
On His Blindness
by John Milton
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."
 Sonnet 138
by William Shakespeare
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearnèd in the world’s false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
Oh, love’s best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told.
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.