Caroline was standing at the edge of the woods, waiting for Matt. They would meet each other here, to have lunch. She was about to call him, when she saw him coming her way. “Sorry I’m late” Matt apologized. “I was occupied por this annoying kid who had all sorts of perguntas about me. I didn’t even know who she was” Caroline pulled a wondering face. “What kind of questions?” she carefully asked. She motioned with her head to the woods and they started walking. Matt shrugged. “She asked if I believed in monsters. I don’t know where it was coming from, she just started talking to me. It was after you called me back to meet. I told her to mind her own business, but she said I should lower my voice” Caroline widened her eyes. “Oh my God, I know who you’re talking about” “Really?” Matt asked slightly surprised. Caroline heavily nodded. “Yes. Brown hair, very curly, shoulder length?” “Yeah” “Green eyes, with a little grey around the irises?” “Hm-hm” “That’s her” Caroline said. “I met her at the Grill, she was eavesdropping my conversation with you when you called me earlier and she told me the exact same thing. That I should lower my voice” Matt scratched his head, to express his confusion. “Who is she?” “I might have a suspicion” Caroline said. “I just need to get my hands on my mom’s files” “Why?” “Because I think she’s a vampire” Caroline said. She paused for a minute. “One that can bring us to Stefan”
Title: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
Author: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles por Poe]
HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I me thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-land !
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
Author: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles por Poe]
HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I me thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-land !
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: To Helen [Poem of Youth]