The Motivational Adda

Line By Line Explanation of Poem "Alone" by Edgar Allan Poe: Overview And Theme: The Poem "Alone" was written by  Edgar Allan Poe  and was published in the year 1875. The Poem consists of 22 lines written in couplets. The Poem is written in a dark and solemn tone and comprises strong  sentiments , solitude, and loneliness that most young and teens feel when their loved ones leave them. The Poem silently gives us a message about how to live alone. The Poem is also about the lonely poet whose perception of the world is much different from others. Explanation: From Childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen!   The poem starts with the lines in which the poet says that- From the age of their childhood, he feels different from others. He saw differently from others. His perception was different in context from all the things that an average person sees. The poet wants to convince that he used to found an abnormality in all those things that are

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less  gone ?   All  that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand — How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep — while I weep! O God! Can I not grasp  Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One  from the pitiless wave? Is  all  that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?             - Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—     While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—             Only this and nothing more.”     Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.     Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow     From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—             Nameless  here  for evermore.     And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;     So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating     “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber doo