I dwelt alone
    In a world of moan,
And my soul was a stagnant tide
Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride –
Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.

    Ah, less, less bright
    Are the stars of night
Than the eyes of the radiant girl,
    And never a flake
    That the vapor can make
With the moon-tints of purple and pearl
Can vie with the modest Eulalie’s most unregarded curl –
Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie’s most humble and careless curl.

    Now Doubt – now Pain
    Come never again,
For her soul gives me sigh for sigh
    And all day long
    Shines, bright and strong
Astarte within the sky,
While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye –
While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.


(Edgar Allen Poe)

Stranger, here you will do well to tarry; here our highest good is pleasure.