Edgar Allan Poe is and will remain my favorito poet of all time. He changed the world with his works. He didn't gain his fame until after his death. It took people in the 1900's and late 1800's to recognize his true genius. Edgar Allan Poe was definitely the best at what he did.Till this day, there is no one who can be compared to Edgar Allan Poe. Some people aspire to write like Edgar Allan Poe, and I'm one of them. We try to grasp his concepts, but cannot. We try to write about horror and love, but we just can't do it. No one can master and grasp his influences of horror, gloom, mystery, love, and death. People amor him and his works.
Some of his stories and poems have been made into short skits. One example is The Raven. When I looked him up on Google, he had over 1 billion views! I cannot stress it to you enough how he changed America! He was not only loved por America, he is loved all over the world. Edgar Allan Poe was an amazing poet and story writer and was loved por all. Edgar Allan Poe lived a life of tragedy and misery. So if he was alive today, I think he would be very appalled to see how much he changed the world, and how much he is loved. Also if he was alive today. I think he would certainly see why I consider him to be, "The World's Greatest"!
Some of his stories and poems have been made into short skits. One example is The Raven. When I looked him up on Google, he had over 1 billion views! I cannot stress it to you enough how he changed America! He was not only loved por America, he is loved all over the world. Edgar Allan Poe was an amazing poet and story writer and was loved por all. Edgar Allan Poe lived a life of tragedy and misery. So if he was alive today, I think he would be very appalled to see how much he changed the world, and how much he is loved. Also if he was alive today. I think he would certainly see why I consider him to be, "The World's Greatest"!
From childhood's hora I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same fonte I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My coração to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
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 nuvem that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same fonte I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My coração to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
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 nuvem that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.