Edgar Allan Poe > Stories/Poems > Eulalie

Eulalie 1845
         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
         The stars of the 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 most humble and careless

         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.