Há muito de inevitável, sem bem que inexplicável, naquilo que sabemos deveria acontecer. Mesmo que o brilho se apague será possível viver sem ele porque na escuridão também sabemos bem qual a direcção que nos empurra para esse desejo, para essa necessidade de partilhar uma igualdade que apenas fará sentido se recusarmos a distância, se recusarmos manter-nos fora do alcance, mesmo que fiquemos sem brilho. Há muito de inevitável na história que só agora começou a ser escrita. (Oldmirror)In youth's spring,it was my lotTo haunt of the wide earth a spotTo which I could not love the lessSo lovely was the lonelinessOf a wild lake, with black rock boundAnd the tall trees that towered aroundBut when the night had thrown her pallUpon that spot as upon allAnd the wind would pass me byIn its stilly melodyMy infant spirit would awakeTo the terror of the lone lakeMy infant spirit would awakeTo the terror of the lone lakeYet that terror was not frightBut a tremulous delightAnd a feeling undefinedSpringing from a darkened mindDeath was in that poisoned waveAnd in its gulf a fitting graveFor him who thence could solace bringTo his dark imaginingWhose wildering though could even makeAn Eden of that dim lakeBut when the night had thrown her pallUpon that spot as upon allAnd the wind would pass me byIn its stilly melodyMy infant spirit would awakeTo the terror of the lone lakeMy infant spirit would awakeTo the terror of the lone lakeSpringing from a darkened mindSo lovely was the lonelinessIn youth's spring, it was my lotIn its stilly melodyAn Eden of that dim lakeAn Eden of that dim lakeLone, lone, lonely...
- Edgar Allen PoeEtiquetas: Edgar Allen Poe