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—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 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