A dark unfathomed tide 
Of interminable pride - 
A mystery, and a dream, 
Should my early life seem; 
I say that dream was fraught 
With a wild and waking thought 
Of beings that have been, 
Which my spirit hath not seen, 
Had I let them pass me by, 
With a dreaming eye! 
Let none of earth inherit 
That vision of my spirit; 
Those thoughts I would control, 
As a spell upon his soul: 
For that bright hope at last 
And that light time have past, 
And my worldly rest hath gone 
With a sigh as it passed on: 
I care not though it perish 
With a thought I then did cherish 

Poet: Edgar Allan Poe
Poem: Imitation

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