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    by Edgar Allan Poe
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    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,
    Astarté within the sky,
    While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye--
    While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.

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