Imitation by Edgar Allan Poe — Read

A dark unfathomed tide / Of interminable pride --

A mystery, and a dream, / Should my early life seem;

I say that dream was fraught / With a wild and waking thought / Of beings that have been, / Which my spirit hath not seen, / Had I let them pass me by, / With a dreaming eye!

Let none of earth inherit / That vision on my spirit;

Those thoughts I would control, / As a spell upon his soul:

For that bright hope at last / And that light time have past, / And my worldly rest hath gone / With a sigh as it passed on:

I care not though it perish / With a thought I then did cherish.