Romance

by Edgar Allen Poe

Romance, who loves to nod a 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 my spirit flings -
That litle time with lyre and rhyme
To while away - forbidden thing!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.