"In the mountains of truth you will never climb in vain: either you will get up higher today or you will exercise your strength so as to be able to get up higher tomorrow." -Friedrich Nietzsche
Sex: male Age: 21 Location: Wormwood,
Virginia, United States
Member since: July 23, 2008 Account: Free Account Orientation: Asexual Status: Single and not looking Occupation: Poet/Writer
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—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.
Succeeding years, too wild for song, Then roll'd like tropic storms along, Where, tho' the garish lights that fly Dying along the troubled sky, Lay bare, thro' vistas thunder-riven, The blackness of the general Heaven, That very blackness yet doth fling Light on the lightning's silver wing.
For, being an idle boy lang syne, Who read Anacreon, and drank wine, I early found Anacreon rhymes Were almost passionate sometimes- And by strange alchemy of brain His pleasures always turn'd to pain- His naivete to wild desire- His wit to love-his wine to fire- And so, being young and dipt in folly I fell in love with melancholy, And used to throw my earthly jest And quiet all away in jest- I could not love except where Death Was mingling his with Beauty's breath- Or Hymen, Time, and Destiny Were stalking between her and me.
O, then the eternal Condor years So shook the very Heavens on high, With tumult as they thunder'd by; I had no time for idle cares, Thro' gazing on the unquiet sky!
Or if an hour with calmer wing Its down did on my spirit fling, That little hour with lyre and rhyme To while away-forbidden thing! My heart half fear'd to be a crime Unless it trembled with the string.
But now my soul hath too much room- Gone are the glory and the gloom- The black hath mellow'd into grey, And all the fires are fading away.
My draught of passion hath been deep- I revell'd, and I now would sleep- And after-drunkenness of the soul Succeeds the glories of the bowl- An idle longing night and day To dream my very life away.
But dreams-of those who dream as I, Aspiringly, are damned, and die: Yet should I swear I mean alone, By notes so very shrilly blown, To break upon Time's monotone, While yet my vapid joy and grief Are tintless of the yellow leaf- Why not an imp the greybeard hath, Will shake his shadow in my path- And even the greybeard will o'erlook Connivingly my dreaming-book.
-Edgar Allan Poe
Favorite Music
Tomaso Albinoni, Johann-Sebastian Bach, Cecilia Bartoli, Ludwig von Beethoven, Joshua Bell, Andrea Bocelli, Carter Burwell, Joseph Calleja, Jose Carreras, Enrico Caruso, Frederic Chopin, Arcangelo Corelli, Franco Corelli, Placido Domingo, Danny Elfman, Giuseppe Giacomini, Beniamino Gigli, Harry Gregson-Williams, Jesper Kyd, Ruggiero Leoncavallo, Pietro Locatelli, Kevin Manthei, Thomas Newman, Niccolo Paganini, Luciano Pavarotti, Lucia Popp, Oscar Shumsky, Giuseppe Tartini, Antonio Vivaldi, The Black Angels, Black Sabbath, Brand New, Bright Eyes, Death Cab for Cutie, King Crimson, The Mars Volta, Modest Mouse, Nirvana, Pink Floyd, The Postal Service, Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Smashing Pumpkins, System of a Down
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