Читать книгу The World's Most Bizarre Murders - James Marrison - Страница 3

Then – in my childhood, in the dawn

Of a most stormy life – was drawn

From every depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still

From the torrent, or the fountain,

From the red cliff of the mountain,

From the sun that round me rolled

In its autumn tint of gold,

From the lightning in the sky

As it passed me flying by,

From the thunder and the storm,

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view.

From ‘Alone’ (1829) – Edgar Allan Poe